Still and Always, McGee
by Malvolia
Summary: Sometimes you have to give something up to safeguard something you want more. A series of one-shot missing McGee and Abby moments, starting with their break-up.
1. Still and Always, McGee

**Set during Season Two.**

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It ends with a whimper—specifically, his, though he manages not to let it out until he has put a few doors between them.

"It" started with one of his late afternoon visits to Abby's lab. His latest case report was almost in order and he had gone down to get a copy of the fiber analysis Abby had been working on. McGee wasn't typically a very active guy. He did his time on the treadmill to keep his legs and lungs in shape for potential chases, despite what Tony and Kate thought, but other than that, he was more than happy to let his fingers do the walking...or delivering. Most of his paperwork came off his printer after he'd requested the electronic copy. Forensics paperwork, on the other hand, generally came from the source. He just couldn't help himself. He'd take any excuse he could to get down there. There was something so...cozy about it.

"Hey, McGee!" Abby yelled cheerfully over the pounding music that broke over his eardrums in crashing sonic waves as he entered the lab.

He waved in response, trying to cover his slight cringe. It was her space, after all. She could listen to her music as loud as she....

"All right, you can turn it down."

He looked abashed, but not surprised. After all, it was her job to notice little things. "I didn't ask...."

"Which is exactly why I'm giving you permission," she said, throwing him an impish grin. He smiled back and walked past her to turn down the speaker volume.

"I'm almost done writing up that fiber analysis," she called from her desk. "Ducky had a high priority tox screen he needed my help on."

"So you're stuck here late again tonight?" McGee asked as he settled into the chair next to her.

"Nope. Finished with Ducky, and in a few seconds"—she hit the print command with a flourish and the printer hummed—"I'm finished with Timmy."

"Finished, huh?"

"No hard feelings," she answered, handing him the freshly printed document.

"As soon as I get this up to my desk, I'm free for the night, too. Chinese at my place?"

"No can do tonight. I have a date."

He laughed, but stopped when she pressed her lips together apologetically. "You're serious."

"We were never exclusive, McGee."

"We were...I mean, _I_ was...you...." He ran a hand through his hair. "Geez, Abby, are we past tense?"

"Oh, come on, please don't make me do this again."

"Do what?"

"The DTR. Isn't our relationship defined enough?"

"Apparently not, if you've been non-exclusive all this time."

"It's not like I've been throwing wild pajama parties, I just like going out with interesting men."

"Oh,_ interesting_ men. I get it."

"That's not how I meant it, McGee, you know I think you rock."

"No, you're right. All I had to offer tonight was Chinese takeout. Where are you going?"

"This club downtown is having a costume party, and it's gonna be like a rave, and...."

"Say no more. Not a big costume guy."

"You totally could be, though." Abby bounced in her chair. "Why don't you come, too? We might hit a tattoo parlor later and get commemorative body art. I've always thought a bat tattoo would look amazing on your...."

He hung his head. "Wow."

"Wow, what?"

"Abs, it's not me, okay?"

"You have that one tattoo already."

"That was for you," he burst out.

She smiled in satisfaction. "I kind of knew. That's so sweet, by the way. I think the bat should be right here," she said, tracing a circle on the left side of his chest, "or else you could center it more, and you'd be like my own personal superhero."

"In your own personal superhero league, you mean."

"Yeah, but you could be my favorite one."

He looked at her soberly, and all traces of teasing vanished from her eyes. "For how long?" he asked.

"McGee," she whispered, "don't make me...."

"No," he said. "I won't. I can do it myself." He took a deep breath. "Rule number twelve." He'd heard it often enough from Gibbs. Never date a co-worker.

"But if we aren't exclusive, it doesn't really count as dating."

He almost changed his mind then, when she gave him the loophole, except for one thing. "It counted for me." She opened her mouth to protest again, but he held up a hand. "You've never been happy with the idea of a long-term relationship. I've known that for a while. It was selfish of me to think otherwise." He bit his inner lip. "Calling it off now means we can be friends still. Right?"

Abby's eyes were red as she flung her arms around his neck. "Still and _always_, McGee."

He leaned into her, but jerked back when he heard paper crinkling. He looked at the document in his hand in confusion for a second before he remembered. "Better get this filed."

She nodded. "Okay. See you Monday?"

"Yeah. Sure."

One door, two doors, three...and it ends with at least one whimper.


	2. Good for McGee

**Set during Episode 2.14, Witness.

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They were sitting awfully close together, heads almost touching and hands brushing far too often to be accidental. Not that Abby cared. Good for McGee. Way for him to break out of his shell and be assertive.

Of course, he'd done that before, back when he asked to meet her for lunch for the first time. The invitation had been a little more stumbly than his interactions with Erin. There had been a lot of stammering on his end and she had had to break out the "if it helps at all, I'm gonna say yes" line she'd picked up from an episode of _Buffy: The Vampire Slayer_, which had broken the ice because he'd seen that episode, too, and honestly, who didn't love a little computer-geek-and-werewolf romance? Anyway, Abby supposed at least some of the credit for increasing McGee's confidence with women went to her, so good for her, too. Helping a friend to find himself.

She'd never helped him find his giggly side. Which Erin seemed to be helping him find, along with ways to work new mojo on computers. But, hey, if he felt he needed giggle training, Abby was more than happy to let somebody else give it a whirl.

And she didn't need him to look up expectantly every time she entered the room, or anything, like a puppy dog she could have with her at work and that didn't need to be housebroken. Did she?

It was just...well, she promised him they'd be friends forever, and friends didn't act like other friends weren't in the room just because a cute girl _was_ in the room. _Another_ cute girl, that is. Who hadn't dumped him.

Which, you know.... Good for McGee. Moving on. So long as he didn't go too far.


	3. Freaking Out

**Set just after Episode 3.21, Bloodbath.

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McGee shut his apartment door and leaned his forehead against it, unwilling to turn around and face reality immediately. He counted to ten in four different languages (one set of foreign numbers remembered from high school Spanish, two picked up from Ziva). Slowly, he swiveled around, head still in contact with the door.

Spare computer parts scattered all over the kitchen. A blue dress shirt draped over the remains of his typewriter. The corner of a towel sticking out of the bathroom, where he knew the rest of it was wadded up on the floor. And although he couldn't see it from the entryway, he knew the sheets were half off his bed. Not to mention the horror of his motherboard, which he still wasn't completely confident about.

With a sigh, he put down his keys and briefcase, both in the designated positions he had for them, and went into his bedroom to change out of his work clothes before tackling the bathroom.

Back when he and Abby were dating, he used to think her carefree attitude towards orderliness was endearing. She would leave his place a mess and he wouldn't mind. Tonight...well, tonight he had plans to scrub his apartment of any trace of her.

He held the ladybug toothbrush over the trash before realizing that if it wasn't Abby's, it was probably Sarah's. And he didn't want to deal with her wrath if he threw away her toothbrush. Still, now it reminded him of Abby. He put it in the medicine cabinet.

Come to think of it, the last time he'd had this much of a mess to clean up was after Sarah's last visit. Were all women like this? No...Ziva's apartment was clean. Probably not as clean as Kate's had been, but Kate had been wound tighter than Ziva. And had never had him over to her apartment, so there was no way to know for sure. He wondered if Director Shepard....

A loud pounding from outside interrupted his musings. It sounded like somebody was trying to kick his door down. He edged slowly over to peer through the peephole, only to see a very familiar dark-haired woman on the other side, her arms clasped behind her. He opened the door.

"Surprise," she chirped.

"Abby? What are you doing here? Didn't Gibbs clear you to go home?"

"He did. And I am. Going home. But I wanted to stop by to give you"—she swung around to reveal her back and what she was holding behind it—"this."

His jaw dropped as he reached his hands slowly towards....

"Move quicker, McGee, this is heavy," she urged.

He snatched the classic Remington typewriter out of Abby's hands.

"You've been at work all day. How did you...."

"I know a guy."

He carried the typewriter across the room and placed it almost reverently in the spot recently filled by its predecessor. "What?" he asked, throwing a grin over his shoulder. "You have your very own old-fashioned office supplier?"

Her brows furrowed. "You can't buy this sort of thing in an office supply store. My friend is an antique dealer."

"I...I know you can't.... It was...." He shook his head. "Never mind."

"I'm really sorry about breaking your old typewriter," she said. "I hope this makes it up to you."

Just like that, all of his worries about the state of his apartment vanished. He knew now they had only been a smoke screen for what had actually been bothering him.

"You were fighting off a crazy stalker," he said. "You're entitled to break a few things."

"I'm sorry about your computer, too," she added, wringing her hands.

"How did you.... I mean, what about my computer?"

"Tony said you were freaking out."

He watched in dismay as a tear rolled down her cheek. A few steps brought him close enough to hug her. "It's okay," he said as she hugged him back. "I don't care."

"Whatever," she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "You were too freaking out."

He shrugged. "It was easier than freaking out about you."

Abby sniffed hard and pulled away to rub her eyes. She caught a whiff of scent in the air and sniffed again.

"Is that Windex?"

"Yeah," he replied. "I was cleaning."

"You haven't cleaned yet?" She looked around the room. "You haven't even cleaned up the old...." Her eyes flicked to McGee's and back to the covered wreck of the old typewriter, but she decided not to finish her sentence. "What _did_ you do last night?"

"Come home and fall into bed, mostly."

"Wow. You _were_ freaking out about me."

He shoved his hands into his pockets.

"That's okay, McGee," she reassured him. "So was I. But it's all right now. Gibbs took care of it. Everything's under control." She gave him another quick hug. "I can't wait to be sleeping in my coffin again."

"Good night, Abs," he said, holding the door open for her as she exited.

He gathered up the computer parts from the kitchen floor, placed the typewriter parts from the old machine in the same crate, and returned the crate to its spot on the counter. After tossing the blue shirt into the hamper (Abby was right, it did smell like perfume...he must not have washed it since Sarah was in town), he changed his clothes again and sat down in front of the typewriter Abby had given him.

He didn't feel the need to do any more scrubbing tonight.


	4. Working Through This

**Set just after Episode 4.11, Driven.**

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Abby whirled around as McGee entered the lab carrying an evidence crate.

"Hey," he said. "Gibbs wanted me to give you...." He glanced up with just enough time to set the crate down on the table before Abby threw her arms around his neck. "You don't have to do that."

She leaned back. "You're objecting?"

"No, no," he said quickly. "Not objecting."

"Really? 'Cause it sounded like objecting."

"It wasn't," he said. "But I'm okay."

She hugged him again. "You will never be okay," she muttered by his ear. He glanced down at her head in confusion. "There are things that burn into your memory, Tim, and this is one of them."

"Ah...thank you?"

"I just mean that even though I'm totally _not _hurt, and it was totally _not_ your fault that you couldn't hear me with the headphones on because those windows were so thick anyway you might not have heard me when you were focused, which would _not_ have been your fault because you were supposed to be focused, and that's what I love about you, or one of the things, because there are more, but...."

He sighed. "Abby, I'm supposed to be working."

"We are working," she said, arms tightening. "We're working through this."

He stretched his neck in an attempt to get more airflow. "Working through what, exactly?"

"I almost died, McGee! Did you forget?"

"I won't ever forget," he began.

She stepped away and pointed a triumphant finger at him. "Ah-HA! You admit it!"

"Yeah, sure, I admit it," he said. "It was only one of the most horrific moments of my life, I'm not about to forget it." He started to motion to the evidence, but Abby was around his neck again.

"You can't just forget those things," she said. "But you've gotta move on, McGee. I saw Gibbs after Kate died. We all did. You gotta move on."

"Abby, you _didn't_ die."

"I was yelling and yelling, but you didn't turn around, and all I could think about—well, aside from the fact that I'd stumbled on how the lieutenant was killed and that my coffin was about to get used for more than just naps and stuff—was you beating yourself up about it forever, and I was yelling and yelling, or did I say that?"

"You did, but I would've turned around before...."

"This isn't about you not saving me," she said, swatting him on the shoulder without releasing him. "This is about me needing you to be okay if someday you can't."

It was his turn to tighten his hold.

"Promise me, Tim."

He swallowed hard. "I don't know if I can."

"I want you to know in advance that I don't blame you at all and I don't want you moping around for the rest of your life. It'll be okay."

"Can we please stop talking about this?"

"Not until you promise."

He sighed. "Only if you promise me to stay around as long as possible."

"As much as it depends on me, I do."

"Then so do I."

She smiled. "We should hug."

"Abby, we _are_ hugging."

"Oh!" she said, and stepped away. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," he said.

"Sign of weakness?"

"I meant not for hugs."

She sighed. "I've been afraid to hug anybody but you and Gibbs all week. I'm going into major withdrawal down here."

He pointed to the evidence crate. "Pull and identify the prints off all this stuff and Gibbs'll probably even give you a kiss."

She clapped her hands in excitement. "On it!"

McGee turned to leave and was almost thrown into the door by a sudden force from behind. It was Abby hugging him again. "You're not kidding about the withdrawal, are you?" he asked over his shoulder, and he felt her shake her head. "Well, you know where I sit if you need me." He felt her nod. There was a pause. "Abby, not that I'm objecting, but you have to let go."

"Right!" she said, as if she'd forgotten again. "Running those prints."

"I'll come back down in a few hours if you want."

She grinned. "I'll be here."

That was all he needed to know.


	5. A Rare One

**Set just after Episode 4.17, Skeletons.**

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Abby wiped a tear away as she stared into Marty's eyes. "I never cared what size you were," she said. "I didn't even notice that I was, like, twice as tall as you are. I would've switched shoes for you. _With_ you, maybe, if you thought it would help." Her eyebrows furrowed. "Not that I wouldn't still have been taller. But I didn't care...I said that already." She sighed. "I've said it a lot. And it doesn't matter. So it's like Gibbs said, I just have to accept it and let it go.

"Good-bye, Marty." With a click of the mouse, Marty's picture disappeared from Abby's computer screen. "I won't forget you."

Her cell phone rang, and she pushed a button to send the call straight to voicemail. She wasn't in the mood to deal with—she glanced at the screen just before the Caller ID went blank—McGee.

Well. _Maybe_ McGee.

She waited until her phone beeped, then punched her voicemail code. One new message.

"Hey, Abby, it's Tim. I'm worried about you. You seemed upset today, and Tony...I mean, I wanted to make sure I didn't do anything to upset you. Call me?"

Abby shook her head. Oh, Tony. She could imagine exactly how that conversation went. McGee would've been all concerned about her, and Tony would've told him it was his fault, and McGee wouldn't have been able to brush it off like he did most of Tony's stupider jokes because he would've started racking his brain for anything he'd done wrong. Knowing him, he probably wouldn't sleep until he'd figured something out, and since he hadn't actually done anything, he might be awake for a while.

She rolled her eyes and held down the number seven on her phone. It rang for approximately one second before....

"Hi," McGee answered, a little breathless.

"I know what you're thinking and, yes, I _am_ screening my calls. I don't want to talk to anybody."

"Ah...okay, well...."

"To _anybody_, Tim. Not just you, specifically."

"Good. Not _good_, but good that it's not me. Or not." McGee sighed in frustration. "What I mean is, I don't like to make you angry."

"I know. And I'm not. Mad at you."

"Okay." He paused. "Do you want to talk about it? I'm guessing it wasn't really just the nougat."

"Brilliant detective instincts, McGee," she snapped.

"You're sure you aren't mad at me?"

"I'm not really mad at anybody, I'm just...." The tears started streaming down her face, and she sniffed loudly.

"I'm coming over," he said firmly.

"No, don't...."

"See you in ten."

Abby sat staring at her cell phone. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he be more like Gibbs, who always knew what to say and when not to push? Why couldn't he tell she needed her space?

Twenty minutes later, Abby was curled up against McGee on her couch, sobbing into his chest as he stroked her hair in silence.

Her tears turned to a fierce bout of hiccups. She pushed back from McGee and stared at him steadily.

"What?" he asked.

"Ssshh," she said. "I'm concentrating."

"On...."

"Hiccups are okay," she said. He looked confused. "Hiccups are not harmful. They can be overcome."

"Right," he said. "Your hiccup cure."

"It works," she insisted.

"Couldn't you pick something else to stare...."

She shushed him again and repeated the three sentences like a mantra until her hiccups subsided. "There. I feel better."

"He really _was_ a good friend," McGee said.

"Yeah," she sniffed. "He really was. And it's just...it's so stupid...." She sniffed once more and McGee held out an arm, an invitation for her to move closer. She leaned into him and stared blankly across the room. "One of the dumbest break-ups ever."

Abby found herself relaxing. She pressed an ear to McGee's chest and listened to the gentle rhythm of his heart. "Have you ever been head-over-platform-heels for somebody who didn't think it would work out?" Her head lifted as he inhaled deeply, and she scrunched her eyes closed as she realized what she'd just asked, of him of all people.

"It's rough," he replied after a moment, and his voice sounded dry. "But you can still be friends, right?"

"He doesn't want to see me," she said. "And I don't know if I could stand seeing him very often, knowing he doesn't want what I want."

"Huh."

Abby thought back, running a mental catalogue of all of her past boyfriends. She wasn't still friends with any of them. She didn't even talk to any of them. Any of them except for one.

She put both arms around McGee. "You're a rare one, Timothy."

He laughed softly and kissed the top of her head. "Look who's talking."


	6. Black Roses and Last Words

**Set during episode 4.19, Grace Period.**

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Without Jim Nelson, McGee would not have graduated from the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center. Without graduating from FLETC, he would not have been able to join NCIS in Norfolk. Without joining NCIS in Norfolk, he wouldn't have called the Washington team in on the case involving the submariner in the barrel of acid, and so would never have met Abby.

She ran it all through, over and over, marveling at how much one person could change the course of another person's life. Without Jim Nelson, she and McGee never would have met. How would that have looked?

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't think of much that would have been different. She would have escaped the cyanide gas even without someone pulling her out of the lab. She would have cracked codes and solved computer problems on her own...eventually, or maybe after a call to tech support. The only thing that would've really been different was that she never would have known McGee.

She called her florist and ordered black roses for the funeral.

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"It could've been us."

Everybody was saying it. Everybody was thinking it.

It felt like polluting his grief for his friend, being glad it hadn't been them, not this time, but he was glad. He had gone down to Abby's lab to grieve and to feel guilty about his gladness, because he felt the most guilty about it there. Jim had just gotten married two months ago. He had somebody who needed him. Who needed McGee?

As they headed out to take Salman Omar into custody, McGee had no doubt every one of them was wondering what would happen if it _was_ them, this time. Even Tony looked distressed. He could still hear Abby's voice as he reached the elevator, and he turned, for the first time wondering what it must be like to stay behind as your friends went into dangerous places.

"Be safe," she said.

He raised his hand as if to catch her words, held it up longer than necessary as he tried to come up with words of his own, words he'd want as his last words to her. Gibbs caught him by the backpack strap and dragged him back into the elevator.

Maybe it was for the best. Last words had the potential to turn awkward if they weren't actually last words.


	7. We Need to Talk

**Set at the end of episode 4.20, Cover Story.**

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"Amy and I get married."

Landon was thrown off, just as McGee had hoped. "You...you marry her?"

"Yeah, I do." He stared hard at Landon as if he could keep him from firing the gun at Abby by force of will. "That means that if you kill her, you're killing the only woman I ever loved." His sometime barista looked uncertain. "Landon, I really do love her! It just took me a while to figure it out."

The other man went for it, believed it, lowered the gun. Relief flooded over McGee, a relief that was edged with guilt even before Abby said, "We need to talk."

He gathered himself to deliver his most spectacular apology yet. "I know this is all my fault...."

"Agent MacGregor can't marry Amy in the end," she interrupted, and he was thrown off by the urgent pleading in her voice. "They're all wrong for each other."

McGee could feel Gibbs grinning as he exited, leaving the two to sort things out on their own.

"They have nothing in common," Abby went on. "Well, that's not true, they have a lot in common, but it's friend stuff, not married people stuff. And she's so all over the place and he's so focused and he can't be in love with her, McGee! It would break his heart. Or hers. Both, maybe."

He grabbed her by the shoulders to stop her. "Abby. That is not how the book ends."

"It's not?"

"No. I haven't finished yet. I haven't even passed chapter seven."

She looked confused. "Then why did you say...."

He rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "Did you not notice he had a gun pointed at you?"

"Yeah, but why would you say...."

"I would have said _anything_," he exploded. "And that made him drop his weapon, so I guess it worked."

Abby surveyed him hesitantly. "So Amy isn't really the only woman Agent MacGregor ever loved?"

"No," he insisted.

A smile lit up her face and she threw her arms around his neck. "That is such a relief," she whispered.

He hugged her tightly, suddenly aware of two things: how close he'd come to losing her, and how big of a lie he'd just told her.

"Thanks, McGee," she said.


	8. Puppy Love

**Set shortly after episode 5.04, Identity Crisis.**

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"She's a little old for me," McGee said.

"You're telling me you're in the market for a younger model?" asked Abby incredulously.

"They're cuter."

"For a while, maybe. Eventually you have to learn how to appreciate the cuteness of the older stages."

"I guess so."

"Well?" prompted Abby. "In that case, what do you think of her?"

"It's a big commitment," McGee demurred. "I don't want to rush things. I want it to happen…you know, naturally."

"I get it," replied Abby, continuing her perusal of the room. "Actually, no, I don't, I don't understand why you haven't already made a move, but...." She grabbed his arm and gasped. "Ohhhhh.... Look at those eyes, Timmy...."

McGee shook his head. "You keep saying that, Abby, but I cannot adopt every dog in this shelter."

"You could get a bigger place," she suggested. "A nice big fenced-in yard, maybe a pond...."

He quirked an eyebrow at her.

"What? You can totally afford it. It would be a better use of your money than...." She stopped short at the look on his face and whipped around to focus on the dogs again.

"Than...?"

Abby leaned down to tousle the ears of a spaniel mix.

"A better use of my money than what?"

"Ohhhh," she said, pointing to the beagle in the next kennel. "Look at those eyes...."

"Abby!"

She stood up and faced him. "Don't be mad."

"That's..."

"...one of the worst ways to start a conversation, I know."

"Am I _ever_ mad at you?"

She tilted her head and considered for a moment. "Not exactly, no. But sometimes you're kind of frustrated. With a little edge of long-suffering." He rolled his eyes, and she pointed at him, eyes wide. "There it is!"

"Okay," he said. "Sorry."

"Don't be, it's kinda hot."

He pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to hide his semi-amused confusion.

"Oooo!" she said. "This one's a Catahoula Leopard Dog. That is _so_ cool. Have you ever heard of...."

"Than my car? Is that what you were going to say?"

"Among other things."

"Things like what?"

"The jackets?" she offered, trying to turn her statement into a question.

McGee looked offended. "What's wrong with my jackets?"

"In and of themselves, nothing," she said. "You have some very snazzy jackets, Tim. I like them. But not above the welfare of these animals."

"Abby, I like my apartment."

"I don't like your car."

"What?"

"I just felt that while we're on the topic of things we like or don't like...."

"I thought we were on the topic of dogs."

"Dogs you could support..."

"...if I didn't have that car you didn't like."

"Or those jackets I do like. Right. See, I knew you knew what I meant."

McGee stroked the muzzle of the Catahoula Leopard Dog. "I don't think I have the energy for more than one dog. I'm not even sure I can handle one. My parents never let us have anything bigger than a guinea pig."

"But Tribble gave you many years of joy before he passed on. Imagine how happy a dog could make you."

"Because it's bigger than a guinea pig, or because it lives longer?"

"I didn't say happi_er_, I just said happy. I would never malign Tribble's memory like that."

"Of course not," McGee grinned.

Abby frowned. "I don't see even one dachshund here."

"If you recall, I never said I was looking for a particular breed. Just...something small enough for an apartment."

"I think a dachshund would be great for you. Girls love dachshunds."

"Maybe, but...."

"But, nothing, McGee. You're getting a dog for the girls. Don't try to pretend it isn't true."

"Not exactly. I just want somebody excited to see me when I get home."

"Somebody to love and cuddle?"

"Yes."

She smirked at him.

"A girlfriend would only be a fringe benefit," he finished.

"So we're looking for a pet with benefits."

"Kind of, yeah. And I don't know that I like the kind of girls who like dachshunds."

"You know, here in the United States we also call them weiner dogs, but in England they call them sausage dogs?"

McGee stared blankly, then shuddered. "Sorry, Abs, that just killed it for me."

"Whoops." She snaked her arm through his. "Don't worry, Tim, we'll find her. Your perfect girl could be right around the corner."

"Abby, I don't want you setting me up."

"I'm talking about dogs, McGee."

"Sometimes it's hard to keep track with you," he said. She opened her mouth to protest. "Don't worry," he said. "It's kind of hot."

She swatted his arm playfully, then looked past him and gasped for about the twentieth time that afternoon. "Oh, Tim...those eyes...."


	9. Amy Loves MacGregor

**Set a few months after episode 4.20, Cover Story.**

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"_I really like you, MacGregor."_

_His chiseled jaw tightened, but he forced a smile that he hoped didn't look too fake. "I really like you, too, Amy. Especially when you work your magic and find some answers for me. Like whose fingerprints were on that javelin."_

Abby twirled a tendril of hair absentmindedly and flipped the page.

"_You're taking this way too casually," Amy complained. "Don't you know you're a target, too?"_

_MacGregor smiled. "It's all part of what we do."_

_His coworker slammed down the evidence tray in her hands. "Wrong. It's part of what _you_ do. You go out and risk your life, I get to sit here and worry about whether or not you'll make it back alive."_

"You tell him, Amy," Abby nodded emphatically.

"_Amy...."_

"_No. Stop. This is serious stuff. Almost as serious as..."_

_The unshakable Amy Sutton faltered, overwhelmed by the words struggling to break free._

"_What is it? You know you can tell me anything."_

"..._as how much I love you," she blurted out._

Abby gasped.

_MacGregor stood before her speechless, watching her wring her hands and seeing the weak flame of hope in her eyes flicker and die. She shook her head and grimaced. "Guess I can tell you _almost_ anything," she said wryly._

_He reached forward and put a hand on her arm. She shivered at his touch. "I do love you, Amy," he said. "You're my best friend."_

Abby groaned. "Ohhh, kiss of death!"

"_You love me like a friend," said Amy. "I'll see that and raise you this."_

"Oooo," Abby muttered as she read the next paragraph. "Hope you had a second to catch a breath first, MacGregor."

_A moment's indiscretion was more than a moment too long._

"What?" muttered Abby. "McGee, seriously, what? And _that_ is the first sentence after that steamy kissing paragraph? I think Agent MacGregor is a little confused."

_MacGregor pulled back. "I'm sorry. I can't."_

"_You just did."_

"Yeah, that's for sure," Abby said.

"_It was a mistake."_

_Amy's eyes were emerald green pools with tragedy swimming in their depths. She shook her head in disbelief. "Yeah. Mine."_

"_Amy...."_

"_Get out of my lab. And don't ever come back. Unless, you know, it's for a case."_

_He cleared his throat. "The fingerprints from the javelin?"_

"_Don't be such an insensitive jerk, MacGregor. You know, even if it is about a case, I'm done with you for today. I'll call Tommy when I know anything."_

_She whirled away, but he didn't miss seeing the tears already cascading down her pale cheeks. He had broken hearts before, but this time was different. This time he broke his own, too._

Abby pulled a tissue out of her back pocket and dabbed at her eyes.

The next chapter started out with a scene in which Tommy and Lisa were mock-arguing about what it meant when a man and a woman went out to dinner and the woman insisted on paying for her own meal. Tommy said it was always a good thing, Lisa said it meant the woman didn't take the man seriously, which would explain why Tommy hardly ever had to pay for dinners other than his own, to which Tommy replied....

Abby let out a puff of breath that blew her bangs into disarray. She flipped casually towards the back of the book. Suddenly, she slammed the cover shut. "No! You will not ruin the ending!" she exclaimed. She counted to five and opened it to where she had left off. Her fingers tapped the pages impatiently. Ever since their talk after the showdown with his obsessed fan, McGee had refused to tell Abby anything else about his book. On the one hand, she didn't think she should be worried, because he had told her that all that about MacGregor and Amy getting married in the end wasn't written. On the other hand, it had been months since then. What if he had changed his mind? "Oh, all right," she gave in after barely two minutes had elapsed. "If you won't be able to concentrate, what's the point?" She grabbed the book and opened to the last page.

"_I don't love you the way you want me to, but I_ do_ love you," said MacGregor._

"_Like you love puppies?" Amy tried to clarify._

"_Trust me, you rate much higher than puppies."_

"_Well, that's good. Because puppies are pretty high up there."_

"_They _are_ awesome."_

_The awkward laugh that followed was followed by an even more awkward silence. _

"_Where do we go from here?" Amy asked._

"_I don't know. Sometimes I think..." he began, and trailed off. "Wherever it is, we go as friends, I hope."_

"_Yeah," she said, and punched him in the arm. "Still friends."_

"_Still and always, if I have anything to say about it."_

"Oh, you do, MacGregor," said Abby, hugging the book happily. "You do."


	10. Four Little Words

**Set immediately after episode 5.08, Designated Target.**

If he were a drinking man, her words would've sent him straight home to his liquor cabinet. As it was, he went straight home to his workbench.

Or tried. His neighbor intercepted him in the hallway. She held out her wrists. "Take me in, copper."

He sighed. "I don't want to do this right now, Angela."

"You mean you're not going to arrest me?" she pouted.

"I haven't decided yet. I just...I need some time to think, okay?"

"Come on, Tim," she said. "Third time's the charm. I haven't been in handcuffs for way too long now."

"Look, it's been a really long day. You may have irreparably damaged the credit I took years building up. It might only be money to you, but to the people you do this to it's their reputations, too. You can't fix those with a check and a smile. "

"So what's the problem? Arrest me."

He stared at her. She was practically glowing with excitement. Here was a woman who was bright, and gorgeous, and fun, and crazy, and.... "You don't respect me at all."

"I respect...."

"It wasn't a question," he interrupted. "We're done."

She was still standing in shock at his front door when he closed it. He felt proud of himself for a moment, and then a rush of trepidation swept over him. The woman's idea of fun was to steal money from people and then pay it back. What would she do now that she'd been given a reason for malice?

He groaned. Why was his love life so difficult? Why couldn't it be more like Tony's? Tony made everything look so easy. Women fell over themselves to be with him.

"_I_ love you, McGee," Abby had said. "That should be enough."

Nope. Not even his workbench could help him with that one. He took off his jacket and went to his typewriter for some free writing instead.

_she loves me she says she loves me she says it all the time_

_not like she loves gibbs_

_or tony ducky ziva palmer_

_like she loves puppies_

_great comparison thanks for that_

_why can't you love me like forensics or dog collars or breathing_

_why can't you love me like there isn't room for anything else the kind of love that makes room for everything else_

_like puppies you say and you love puppies and i believe you_

_working a case you love me_

_going to a concert you love me_

_getting a drink you love me_

_there's no leash but it feels like a leash feels like a trap somehow that i don't want to leave_

_because you say you love me you say it all the time and_

McGee's fingers hovered over the keys, reluctant to finish the thought. He stopped and reread what he had written, noting with professional interest the telltale change in subject/verb tense.

He was up and heading to his room before the paper finished feeding through the shredder. His head was pounding and he fumbled for some ibuprofen before collapsing onto his bed.

"I love you, McGee," Abby had said, over and over and over.

And no matter how hard he tried to block it out with cheerleaders and rich neighbors, all he wanted was all it seemed she would never give him—a chance to say, "I love you, too."


	11. Venetian Snares

**Set before episode 5.12, Stakeout.**

**

* * *

**

McGee held up the tickets with a flourish. "Peace offering."

Abby's face crinkled in delighted confusion as she reached for the tickets with both hands. "Why? What did you do?"

"I had to miss the Brain Matter concert, and I know it meant a lot to you. So when I saw these guys were in town, I thought you might want to go."

"'Venetian Snares,' huh?" she read off the top ticket. "Will I hate them as much as you hate Brain Matter?"

He looked wounded. "I love Brain Matter."

Abby's eyes twinkled. "Sure you do."

"You won't hate them."

She tapped the tickets against her forehead and regarded him appraisingly. "Okay," she said, suddenly grabbing his hand and shaking it with enthusiasm. "But I already forgave you."

"I know."

"Good. Now we can enjoy this without me worrying that you're waiting for me to say it."

"No waiting for anything, just a lot of electronic surrealism."

"Ooooo. Maybe I _won't_ hate them as much as you hate Brain Matter." She laughed as he rolled his eyes.

* * *

"You're yawning," Tony stated.

McGee belatedly put his hand in front of his mouth as he set down his briefcase.

"Rough night?"

"No," answered McGee, shrugging off his coat, "I was just at a concert and it went a little longer than anticipated."

Tony shuddered. "An extra hour of Yanni. I would've called in suicidal to work."

McGee faded out for a minute, remembering Abby's astonished demeanor from the night before. Her hands had kept pulling up towards her chest, the way they did when she got so worried or so excited it was like she had to hold herself together to keep herself from flying apart. She had definitely not been worried.

"Tim," she had said over and over, quietly but loud enough for him to hear, "I do _not _hate them."

Mind back in the present, he chuckled. "You're certainly entitled to your own opinion."

Tony cast a look of appeal at Ziva.

"He's right," she said. "Everybody's entitled to their own musical tastes."

Her partner threw his head back and cast an aggrieved sigh towards the ceiling.

"Me, I prefer music with more of a beat. Something that keeps my blood pumping while I'm driving."

"Which begs the question: _would_ your driving improve once Yanni's dulcet tones had soothed you to sleep?"

As Ziva chucked her empty coffee cup at Tony's head, McGee noticed an inter-office mail envelope sticking out from beneath his keyboard. He pulled it out, opened it upside down, and a photo of a skull fell into his hand. He flipped it over.

"I promise never to be your pigeon," someone read sentimentally. McGee startled and Ziva laughed. "Thanks for a fun night," Tony continued. He straightened up and looked soberly back at Ziva. "I knew it," he said. "He's a closet pigeon fancier."

The elevator doors slid open and Gibbs stepped out, sending Tony hurrying back to his desk. McGee began fastening the picture to his cubicle wall, humming the tune to "Második Galamb."

Because Abby knew she had a wild life, and McGee knew that he would always be a welcome part of it.

* * *


	12. Man's Best Friend

**Set right after episode 5.14, Dog Tags**

* * *

The mellow vocals of Nellie McKay floated through McGee's apartment as he and Jethro surveyed each other uncertainly. Well, McGee was uncertain. He could only assume Jethro was, too.

"She'll be back," McGee informed the German shepherd, and he could have almost sworn the dog grinned a little bit. He rummaged in the large paper bag Abby had left behind and pulled out a rawhide bone. "She's totally in love with you. Me?" He pulled at one end of the bone as Jethro wrestled with the other. "I wanted a small dog." Jethro secured the bone and settled down on the floor with it.

McGee rustled in the bag and pulled out two large dog dishes, a rubber duck, a fuzzy bear, and a black, red, and white argyle dog sweater. He looked at Jethro, who looked back at him and cocked his head to one side. "I don't know, either," McGee said. "Don't worry, I will not make you wear that." He tossed Jethro the rubber duck and the dog caught it and began squeaking it contentedly.

The bag also contained an extra leash, a blanket, and a few more dog collars. "I think I've seen her _wearing_ this one."

He turned to the bag of dog food and laughed. Jethro glanced up, duck still clamped in his jaws. "She looked pretty funny carrying all this stuff in here, didn't she? Your leash in one hand, giant bags in each arm.... How did she ring the doorbell, with her nose?" Jethro raised his head and lowered it in what McGee chose to interpret as a nod. He chuckled, imagining that scene, then jumped as the doorbell rang.

"I've got the next load!" Abby chirped. He rolled his eyes and opened the door. She struggled in carrying a dog bed and a vaseful of flowers.

"Need some help?"

"I got it," she said, panting a bit as her hold on the dog bed began to slip. She eased it down and put the vase squarely in the center of the kitchen counter.

Jethro got to his feet and nosed around Abby until she pulled a dog biscuit from her boot and fed it to him. "How's the bonding coming, guys?"

"We had maybe five minutes alone, I'll let you know in a week. Is that everything?"

"Yes," said Abby. She sunk to her knees and wrapped her arms around Jethro's neck.

"You sure you don't just want to move?"

"I'm not gonna move to keep a dog."

"Not when you can keep him here, you mean."

She shrugged. McGee put a few scoops of dog food into Jethro's dish and went into the kitchen to fill the water bowl. He heard whispering and craned his neck so he could see around the flowers.

"You'll be fine here," Abby was whispering to Jethro. "We love Timmy. He's a good guy. Maybe a little uptight, but I bet you can help him loosen up a bit. And he loves you already. He just doesn't know it yet."

"When _will_ I know it?"

She startled. "McGee! Didn't your mother teach you it's rude to eavesdrop?"

"Yeah, but she...." He shook his head and decided not to continue. It was clearly one of those conversations he wasn't going to win. He brought the water bowl around and set it on the floor. "I think I'll make pasta," he said. "You want some?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Dogs should not eat pasta."

"I meant you."

"Oh. Oh, well...." The hesitancy on her face turned to stubborn determination. "No. No, I have to leave. This should be a guys' night. Come here."

"I'm standing right...."

"Get down here, McGee!" She waved him over to where she sat hugging Jethro. "Group hug before I go. So Jethro knows it'll be okay."

Awkwardly, McGee got down on his knees and put his arms around Jethro, hands resting on Abby's shoulders. She reciprocated and said, "Okay, Jethro. We're all friends here, right? Tell McGee that you only bit him because you were high. Which was not your fault, it's not like you have a problem or anything."

"Abby...."

"Oh, wait!" She dug into her boot and pulled out one more dog biscuit. "Open your mouth, Tim."

"What? I don't want...."

"It's not for you. Watch." She snapped the biscuit in half, put one half between her lips, and made kissing noises at the dog, who took the biscuit by the very edge, brushing Abby's lips as he did so.

"That is both unsafe and unsanitary."

"It's love, Timmy. You don't worry about things like safety and sanitation when it comes to love. Now open your mouth."

He sighed heavily and opened his mouth to take the biscuit, but Jethro moved quickly and intercepted it before it reached McGee. And then, before Abby could even protest, the dog turned and licked McGee's cheek.

McGee locked eyes with Jethro and a current of understanding seemed to pass between them. As Abby grabbed them both in a final farewell hug, the hint of resentment McGee had been feeling the whole evening faded away.

After all, he had ended up with the right dog for the right girl.


	13. Screensaver

**Set in the second half of Season Five.**

**

* * *

  
**

McGee entered Abby's lab waving a CD.

"Venetian Snares?" she asked hopefully.

"Work-related," he answered.

She jumped up and down and clapped. "You have upgrades! I love upgrades!"

He grinned. Few people got excited when he came around with computer upgrades. Most were afraid of any glitches that might come with them. But then, Abby knew he always made sure those glitches were worked out before he came to her computers.

"I'll get started on the one in your office," he said.

Abby nodded and turned her attention back to the fingerprint analysis she was running. Her head jerked back up, however, at McGee's next words.

"Cute screensaver. Whose kids?"

She winced and closed her eyes.

"Oh, wow. Is that Tony's baby picture? That is incredible. Where did you get that? And the next one kind of looks like Gibbs."

She crossed her fingers and began an internal countdown from five...

"Hey, wait a second..."

...four...

"...these are all headshots..."

...three...

"...with the same background."

...two...

"Have you been using the photo manipulation..."

...one...

Silence.

She opened her eyes and looked in at McGee, whose shocked face was only a few inches from the screen. So much for hoping he wouldn't see it.

"They're _your_ kids."

Abby heaved a misunderstood sigh and sidled over to stand in the doorway. "Sometimes I get bored. And you know how much I love that program."

"Well, yeah, for maybe Gibbs and the director or Gibbs and Lt. Col. Mann, but...."

"Come on, McGee. You've never been curious about what your future children might look like?"

He licked his lips awkwardly and swallowed as if he hadn't had anything to drink for days. "This from somebody who's never going to get married."

"You don't have to be married to have kids."

McGee looked up at the ceiling as if in deep thought. "I believe the specific phrase was, 'Who would _want _to handle the little hellions alone?'"

"That was the worst babysitting experience ever and you know it," she said, crossing her arms defensively.

"You talk about it enough, I _should_ know it."

"Okay, okay, I wouldn't want to deal with them alone. Not for real. But it doesn't mean I can't be curious about what they might look like. Does it?"

McGee's attention returned to the computer screen. His expression faded from frustration to something akin to regret. "No," he almost whispered. "It doesn't." And Abby didn't have to look to know the picture he was seeing featured his round face with her sharper features.

Baby Elvira _was_ the cutest.


	14. Breathing

**Set immediately after episode 5.19, Judgment Day Part 2**

* * *

Gibbs gave her the news. He couldn't keep it from her—she knew Vance had called everybody into his office, and as soon as they came out she and Ducky had been there, wanting to know why. Ducky had been staggered, but Abby had taken it surprisingly well. Suspiciously well. Barely more than a "Wow, that's crazy" and an "I'm really gonna miss you guys. Keep in touch, okay?"

McGee made his way down to her lab the first chance he got. He hadn't even rounded the corner when he heard her breathing, quick and uneven, like she wasn't getting enough air.

As she came into view he saw her leaning against her desk, her arms clasped tightly against her chest. "It's not working," she said, with a little choking sob. "It's not working."

"What's not working?" he asked.

"Trying to regulate my breathing. Like in _Signs_. It's not working."

"How's this?" McGee moved behind her and put his arms around her. "In," he said quietly, taking a deep breath, "and out," he exhaled. He held her until her breathing slowed and her body relaxed, until the hyperventilating turned to tears.

"How could he do that, Tim?" she asked, leaning back into him. "How could he take everybody? And _today_?"

He had no answer, so he said nothing.

"All that time I wasted resenting Ziva for not being Kate, and missing out on some really terrific cooking...and she's only here a year longer than Kate was. And Tony? He's been here so long I can't imagine life without him."

"I'll still be here."

"You'll be in Cyber Crimes. You won't be working with me anymore."

"Are you kidding? I'm definitely going to need your help."

Abby released a shaky sigh. "Really?"

"Really." He gave her a slight squeeze, but she pulled away and turned to face him, her eyes growing panicked again.

"Yeah, well, maybe for _now_, McGee. Until you get tight with your new buddy Holsworth. Until you get transferred." Her voice was rising and rising to a more hysterical pitch. "Until _you_ get killed."

"Abby, I'm not going to...."

"Do you think Kate planned to get killed? Or Agent Cassidy? Or Director Shepard?"

He held up an imploring hand. "You once told me that you needed me to be okay if something ever happened to you," he said. "Well, now I need the same promise from you."

She frowned stubbornly. "No."

"What? You have to...."

"I don't have to do anything." Her hands began moving frenetically, her nails clicking as she brought them into contact over and over again. "Don't you go dying on me, Timothy, I can't handle another one."

"I'm not...."

Tears were streaming down her cheeks and her breathing was quickening again. "I can't...I can't...."

He stepped forward, took her face in his hands, and kissed her. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, threaded her hands through his hair, kissed him back, and even without the taste of salt he could have told that her heart was breaking in half.

They separated, rested their foreheads against each other.

"I know you want...."

"Ssshh," said McGee. "I'll worry about that."

She nodded, hugged him tighter.

"I'll worry about everything."

"You shouldn't have to."

"I don't," he said.

They stood together, breathing in perfect synchronization.


	15. Gluten Not So Free

**Set right after episode 6.3, Capitol Offense**

* * *

McGee took hold of his bag and stood up from his desk cautiously, avoiding Abby's angry glare, Tony's mocking grin, and Ziva's irritated grimace. "Well. Good night."

Abby and Ziva looked away and Tony brushed one index finger across another in the classic "shame on you" gesture.

"I said I was sorry."

No answer.

"I'll get her another one," he said, and Ziva laughed incredulously. "I'll get you another one," he repeated, directing his words at Abby.

Tony came over and clapped him on the shoulder. He pointed at Abby: "World-class forensic scientist." He pointed at McGee: "World-class idiot."

"I can only apologize so many times."

"That's probably true, McDeadManWalking, but I wouldn't lose count just yet."

McGee rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry," he repeated for what seemed like the fifteenth time that evening. "I'll go buy you another cupcake on my way home, okay, Abs?"

She bit her lip and didn't make eye contact.

He sighed and lifted one hand in silent farewell as he made his way to the elevator. As the doors were just about to shut, Abby's boot shot between them. She got in, let the doors close, waited a few seconds, and slapped the emergency switch. The elevator jerked to a halt and the back-up lights came on.

"I don't want another cupcake."

"You seemed pretty upset about..."

"...about you stealing it? Yeah, Tim, no kidding I was upset. Nobody violates the sanctity of my lab and gets away with it."

McGee remembered the look on her face when she told him about pulling his prints from the box of gloves. "I know."

"And for it to be you? Of all people?"

"I was hungry...it was late...."

She flung a hand in front of his face. "Whatever, McGee. I've heard it before." She crossed her arms and stared viciously ahead at the closed elevator doors. McGee stood still for a moment, decided she was finished, moved his hand towards the emergency switch, and promptly received a smack on the back of the head.

"I'll buy you another...."

"It's not about the cupcake," she insisted. "I really am going gluten-free this week. If I'd eaten that, I probably would've felt sick for hours. Maybe even days."

"Then what...."

She smacked him again, on the arm this time. "It's about you insulting me by not thinking I'd figure it out." Another smack on the arm. "It's about you not just asking me in the first place." He braced for a third, but none came. "Of all people, _you._"

McGee's guilt at being caught turned to genuine remorse.

"I didn't even get to watch you eat it," she continued sadly. "That would've been the next best thing to eating it myself."

"Abby," he started, but she interrupted.

"I forgive you, McGee. I know you're sorry for real by now."

"For real," he seconded. "Isn't there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

"Here's what you're going to do. Tomorrow you are taking me out to lunch, and you are buying, and you will eat whatever I tell you to eat, and you will _enjoy_ it. Visibly."

His eyebrows puckered in confusion. "But how is that...."

"Do you have any idea how many foods have gluten in them? I'm gonna need to live vicariously until I get used to this."

He shrugged. "Deal."

Abby smiled and hit the emergency switch. The elevator lurched into motion again, stopping shortly thereafter at the NCIS main lobby.

"Oh, and you should pay Ziva back," Abby said as McGee stepped out. "I don't want to come up someday and find you missing a finger or something." He whipped around in time to catch her waving cheerily as the doors slid closed.

He could already tell that cupcake would be the most expensive food he'd never purchased.


	16. Secrets and Locked Doors

**Set during episode 6.8, Cloak.**

* * *

"You can't talk about this. To anybody."

"Except the team," clarified Abby.

Gibbs shook his head.

"Except McGee?"

"Nope."

"We're counting on you to keep this a secret," said Director Vance. "Your participation is a crucial part of making the mole feel comfortable enough to tip her hand."

Abby saluted. "You can count on me, Gibbs. And Director."

Vance hesitated for a moment, but then he saw Gibbs nod in agreement and shrugged. "I know you're all very"—he made eye contact with Gibbs—"innovative about direct orders, but this is important. The information this mole is letting out could get somebody killed, and I know you don't want that, Miss Sciuto."

She shook her head violently. "I will bar my door if I have to," she said firmly, and Gibbs grinned at the look on her face as her off-handed comment obviously sparked an idea.

When the door closed behind her two superiors, Abby ran over and locked it. She took a step back and eyed it nervously, as if something horrible might happen because of what she had just done, then she raced to her computers. The sooner this was started, the sooner it would be over with.

* * *

The next day, it happened. A soft thud on the door and an irritated mumbling from McGee and her first lie to her coworkers about this case. Of course it _would_ be McGee first. Why couldn't it have been Palmer? He would have been confused but would have brushed it off as an extra strange day. McGee would go all investigative reporter on her for sure. Another thud and Tony's muttering. This was going to be more difficult than she had thought.

* * *

She made her way up to McGee's desk later that night. She hadn't gone so long without seeing him at work since the summer, and she hated it. This must have been what he felt like, having to lie to her. She hoped it wouldn't take months for this part of the operation to be completed.

Her plan had been to sit at his desk and mess with the settings on his chair, but that didn't work out. Instead, she had to make small talk. It was dangerous making small talk with McGee. She was too used to telling him just about everything, and he was too used to guessing at anything she didn't say. He picked up on her "understanding" their mission and became more sure she was hiding something.

She decided it would be better if she didn't leave her lab until this was all over.

* * *

Abby loved her lab more than any place on the face of the earth, including her bedroom with the coffin. Still, it got a little boring, sitting there with nothing much to do other than wonder when this mole would be caught. She was used to a fairly steady stream of visitors during the day, or at least an instant message conversation or two when they couldn't make it down. Now there was nothing.

Nothing except McGee knocking on the door and begging to be let in because he had to tell her something.

She was proud of the calm way she put him off, not so proud of the way he started hammering on her door afterwards, and completely over-the-top proud of holding back her instinctive reaction to jump for joy when she saw security at the door. This was the sign that the final phase was in motion. She promised herself she wouldn't even close her door for a week.

* * *

The interrogation room was blissfully quiet. She stared at the mirror, replicating the expression she had felt on her face as she panicked that her friends would guess that she was in on the whole thing. The eyes that stared back at her looked overwhelmingly guilty.

"Oh, yeah," she said, satisfied. She settled back in her chair and waited. Soon Gibbs or the Director, or maybe Gibbs _and_ the Director, would come in, and they would have dismissed the listener on the other side of the mirror, and they would tell her what the status of the operation was and how much longer she'd have to keep lying to....

McGee opened the door and she almost cried. It was too much. It was one thing to evade questions in her lab or the bullpen, but another thing entirely to have him interrogate her with no way of hiding or getting away.

She held out pretty well, even when he insisted she would never betray Gibbs and she heard the unspoken "or the rest of us" underneath his words. When the Director came, she thought she was off the hook. He would kick McGee out and she could go back to staring at the mirror and...then he left.

McGee sat down in the chair across from Abby and stared at her. She kept trying to look everywhere except at him, but it was a small room and then he started laying out the observed facts of the recent past and his observed facts about her as a person and this was getting ridiculous.

"If you don't want to talk," he started, and as he said it the thought raced through her mind that there was no _way _Director Vance was stupid enough to leave her locked in a room alone with McGee if it wasn't already almost over.

"Of _course_ I want to talk, McGee," she spurted, and everything she'd been doing over the past several days came pouring out, and she wasn't sure who was more excited about this confession, her or McGee, and then he nearly jumped over the table to kiss her on the cheek and she figured it was probably him. She smiled. Everything was all right again. Except....

"Now that you know, we're probably _both_ gonna have to stay here until Gibbs or the Director comes back to let us out," she said apologetically.

He didn't seem to mind.


	17. Better Than Tasering

**Set during episode 6.11, Silent Night.**

**

* * *

  
**

The problem with Santa not bringing gifts to anybody over the age of ten was glaringly obvious, Abby reflected as she remembered the bustling department store crowds that had surrounded her on Christmas Eve. Some people could still use the help well past that age. People, for instance, who didn't get a lot of free time for shopping. Or people who maybe technically had enough time to have gone shopping, but just didn't have the imagination to come up with the perfect gifts.

If there was one thing Abby hated, it was seeing someone she cared about disappointed. If there were two things, the other one would be seeing someone she cared about disappointed because of her. Sure, nobody had ever said they didn't like her presents, but that was just making things worse. She was on a winning streak for now, but any champion knew it only took one bad year to foul up a winning streak.

She had come away from her shopping expedition of the previous night with three gifts: a bottle of champagne for Gibbs (to be used in the christening of his next boat); a copy of Boris Karloff's _Frankenstein_ for Tony (shockingly, despite loving Karloff's performance in _Scarface_, Tony had admitted to her he'd never seen the movie that first made the actor famous); and a fruitcake for Palmer (a long-standing joke). By the time she had agonized over these gifts, it had gotten so late that stores were starting to close down.

So it was true that she didn't have anywhere else to go for Christmas this year, what with her parents in Aruba over the holidays; and that she wanted to be with her NCIS family; and that she wanted to play fairy godmother while she was at it. But she also came in on Christmas because she wasn't done with her presents and it was practically impossible to find anything open on Christmas. She'd have to make do with what she had. What did she have?

Abby scanned the room and lit on a beaker with a thin crack in the base. She'd been meaning to throw that away, or maybe glue it so she could use it at home for a vase. Thinking of vases reminded her of flowers and thinking of flowers reminded her that she'd never seen flowers on Ziva's desk. Suddenly, that seemed like an unsolved crime. Just because Ziva was tough didn't mean she didn't like flowers. Every woman wanted flowers now and then. Of course, Abby didn't have _actual_ flowers, but she was sure she could come up with something.

Ducky came to mind next. While she was sure he'd appreciate whatever she gave him, she didn't want to duplicate Ziva's gift. Besides, she couldn't spare any of her good beakers. What she wanted was something more manly. Something debonaire, like Ducky himself, with his bow ties and his cuff links and...his cuff links. Abby knew she had a few live rounds in one of the guns in the locker in the ballistics room that would be just perfect. After they'd been fired, of course. They couldn't have Ducky walking around with wristfuls of gunpowder, that would less "debonaire" and more "dangerous."

That left McGee. What to get for him?

She was pacing around her lab when he entered, looking cranky.

"I just got tasered," he volunteered before she could ask. "Merry Christmas to me."

"Tim!" she exclaimed, bouncing and clapping. "That's the worst Christmas gift ever!"

He eyed her suspiciously. "Why is that exciting?"

"Nothing I could get you could possibly be worse than that," she said, her smile faltering when she realized what she had just said. "I mean, _have_ gotten you. Which...is something you will love."

"You don't need to get me anything, Abs."

It was her turn to get suspicious. "Why, didn't you get me anything?" He didn't answer. "You _did_," she accused. "You were just trying to make me feel better by pretending you didn't have anything, either."

"You stress out over this every year, but there is nothing you could give me that I wouldn't like."

"See, that's the problem, I don't want you just to _like_ it, I want you to...."

"Tony wants us up in MTAC in an hour to watch a Christmas movie," McGee interrupted. "Just wanted you to know."

Abby wondered why he had bothered to come all the way down to tell her that when he could have called instead, but then she saw the slump in his shoulders as he turned to go and she raced to intercept him before he could leave.

"Here I'm going on about presents when you came here for post-tasering sympathy," she said. She pulled his head down on her shoulder and stroked his hair maternally. "Poor sweet baby."

"A little too much sympathy," he offered. "If I wanted mothering, I would've called my mom."

"Oh," she said. "Well, how's this?" She released him to stand at his full height and then she kissed him. _Not_ like his mom would ever kiss him.

Afterwards he looked up and around the ceiling, eyes coming to rest by the plasma screen hanging on the wall. "Missed the mistletoe by about twenty feet, Abs."

"Consider it part of your Christmas gift," she said. "Second installment to come."

His eyebrows lifted. "Second installment?"

"Of the gift. How do you feel about cuff links?"

He grinned and shook his head. "Nah," he said. "I think I'm good for this year."

"Only if I can trade whatever tangible gift you got me for something else," she said. "Say...oh.... Oh! You could sit behind me in MTAC and give me a backrub during the movie."

"Those chairs are a little high for that, don't you think?"

"You're a genius, Timmy. I'm sure you'll figure something out."

"Fair enough," he shrugged. He left the room, then stuck his head back around the edge of the door. "That _was_ a better gift than tasering."

She smiled as she pulled a handful of pink cotton swabs from a drawer. She _knew_ nothing she could have given him would have been worse.


	18. The Things He'd Do for Christmas

**Set immediately after episode 6.11, Silent Night. Addition to "Better than Tasering."**

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McGee leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He inched up in his chair. Slowly, hoping everyone's eyes were riveted on the plight of the Bailey Savings & Loan, he reached his hands to the chair in front of him, around the sides, and....

"What _are_ you doing, Timothy?" Ducky asked.

He jumped and Tony made an annoyed hissing noise.

"You have been talking this whole time," Ziva scoffed.

"My movie, my traditions," Tony protested. "Now everybody be quiet. This is a classic scene."

McGee jumped again as Abby's hands fluttered at his knees. He leaned around the chair, on the opposite side from Tony to be safe. "This is tricky," he whispered. Or started to whisper. Because he hadn't gotten past "This is," which admittedly had more sibilance than he'd thought properly about, when Abby flipped her hand by her ear so quickly she smacked him in the nose.

He sat back in his chair with his nose pointed upwards in case it was bleeding. Abby came alongside him. "I'm sorry, Tim! But you know how ticklish my ears are."

"Would you stop?" growled Tony. "You're ruining Christmas."

"Your traditions are very strict for someone as spontaneous as you usually are," Ziva pointed out.

"Of course they're strict. That's why they're called 'traditions.'"

"That is _not_ why...."

"Oh, come on!" said Tony. "We just missed Mama and Papa Dollar."

"Chinese fire drill!" called Abby. She leapt to her feet, pulling McGee behind her. At the look on Tony's face, she shrugged. "Well, it's almost Chinese New Year, too, right?"

"I'm afraid that isn't until the twenty-sixth of January this year, my dear," said Ducky. "You see, unlike the New Year of the Gregorian calendar, the Chinese New Year is drawn from what is known as a lunisolar calendar...."

Abby was bustling McGee down to the front row of chairs and pushing him into the chair next to Ziva.

"That's it," Tony said, cutting Ducky off mid-explanation and moving over to the control panel. "I'm rewinding at least ten minutes."

Abby settled onto the floor in front of McGee, reached behind her, grabbed his hands, and placed them on her shoulders. "Go."

"Getting any ideas?" Tony asked Ziva as he returned to sit in the chair he'd rolled closer to his teammates at the beginning of the movie.

"Mmm," said Ziva. "I _am_ thinking...that I will go sit by Ducky."

"Tony, you can take Ziva's chair," said Abby.

"Are you kidding? I don't want to sit by"—Tony gestured at McGee and Abby—"all that." He picked his chair up and lifted it to the second level. "Now keep it quiet, everybody. I don't want to hear any contented sounds from down there, you two. It's Christmas."

Abby clamped her hands firmly over her mouth and nodded.

"Tensing up like that is kind of defeating the purpose, isn't it?" McGee asked her.

She shook her head hard, then dropped her hands just long enough to say, "Less talking, more back-rubbing."

He chuckled and complied. The things he'd do for Christmas.


	19. Pretty High Up There

**Set during episode 6.12, Caged.**

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On the scale of bad days, this one was pretty high up there. Which was saying something, considering the number of times his life had been in jeopardy, or the number of funerals he'd attended of colleagues and peers, or that time Abby made him wear her vampire cape at the Renaissance Faire because "it'll totally make that Caf-Pow I spilled on your shirt look like the aftereffects of a gruesome blood feast."

The day started out with the news about his car. Third day in the shop, and still no closer to being done. A lot closer to being robbed blind, but no closer to being done. He hated dealing with mechanics. They took one look at him and pegged him for a sucker, or at least he assumed they did considering how often Tony burst out laughing when McGee told him how much he'd had to spend on a car repair.

Shortly thereafter he got to go interview a suspect in prison. Kind of exciting, but the edge was a little taken off when he saw Brenda Carter and she reminded him all over again of just how clingy she was. He hoped she wouldn't take the old "we should get together sometime" line seriously, but she did. Okay, he couldn't help but be a little flattered. Maybe this was what it was like to be Tony, except Tony had prettier and saner women throwing themselves at him.

Celia Roberts wasn't interested in talking, and he was just trying to remember how to convince women to do anything when the riot started. He was still trying to remember, in a more desperate way, as they handcuffed him to the window and threatened to cut off one of his fingers ("if you had to lose a finger, Timmy," Abby had asked when they had their_ Lord of the Rings_ marathon, "which one would you pick?"), when suddenly they changed their minds and nominated him chief negotiator.

That was all well and good. Things seemed to be going better. All he had to do was keep them calm, reason with them, and everything would be fine. _Wrong,_ he thought, as he looked at himself in the mirror, eyes red and burning from the mace Lopez had used on him. _So wrong. _But as he looked at himself he felt something snap, and his perspective clicked into place.

He stormed back in, and he wasn't a soft federal agent facing a room of hardened female criminals anymore. He was _done_ with that, and now he was Scoutmaster McGee, bringing order to a rowdy group of young kids who were not about to earn any merit badges. When it worked he wasn't surprised, because he hadn't stopped long enough to worry about whether it would work or not.

It was pretty obvious that Gibbs, Ziva, and Tony were proud of him when he left prison with his head held high _and_ with a confession, too. Tony asked a lot of questions on the way back about what it was like on the inside of a women's prison, and McGee answered like an old pro who didn't think it was a big deal, which was great because it drove Tony crazy.

It was _extremely_ obvious that Abby was excited to see him safe again. He let himself bask in it, the triumphal return, and his mechanic had excellent timing because McGee was still in that zone where he just knew that people would do what he told them to do. It didn't hurt that everybody was around to hear the conversation. And when Abby leaned in to tell him she liked what prison had done to him, he could see Tony and Ziva in his peripherals, and their reaction was perfect.

At that moment, he had no doubt he could convince anybody, man or woman, to do anything. He smiled broadly, confidently, and watched all of the residual worry Abby had for her little Timmy melt away, to be replaced by a whole lot of pride and just a touch of awe. "In fact, I don't think I'll ever have to be worried about you again," she added.

On the scale of good days, this one was pretty high up there.


	20. Protocol

**Set immediately after episode 6.17, South by Southwest.**

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When Ziva walked into the lab, Abby was leaning against her workstation and surveying the painting Jack Patterson had sent her.

"Trying to decide where to mound it?"

Abby shook her head as if clearing her thoughts. "What?"

"The painting. I assumed you were thinking about mounding it somewhere in your lab."

Abby's eyebrows furrowed, then smoothed out again. "You mean _mounting_," she said, "but no. It doesn't fit with my décor."

Ziva looked at the painting, a tranquil outdoor setting in which a girl sat calmly reading a book, and looked around the lab, a basement crowded with machinery and music. No. It didn't fit.

"Besides, it's not like it was really a gift, it was a clue. This baby's going in the evidence locker."

"I see." Ziva nodded. "Then why are you staring at it?"

Abby bit her lower lip and jostled her leg nervously. "I think...I don't know, maybe not...but...I _thought..._." She threw her hands in the air with a frustrated sigh. "I thought he was going to ask me out. That's why I put him off until the morning."

"You were not interested?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. It's just...complicated. Co-worker relationships and everything. It's against rule number twelve."

"_Gibbs'_ rule number twelve."

"Yeah." Abby narrowed her eyes at Ziva. "Just what are you implying?"

Ziva shrugged semi-defensively. "I am not implying anything. But Gibbs' rules are for Gibbs, aren't they? They are not a condition of employment, they are just one man's standards of...."

She was cut off by Abby gasping and holding her hands over her ears. "I'm not hearing this."

"All right, well...what about McGee?"

"What _about_ McGee? Is _he_ a traitor to the rules, too?"

Ziva rolled her eyes. "It just seems that you and McGee have had a...closer relationship than you have now."

Abby glared. "What are you trying to do, jinx our friendship? We have _never_ been closer than we are now."

"I thought that since...." She trailed off. "It was nothing. I should get back to work."

The light of understanding glimmered in Abby's eyes. "You've been talking to Tony."

"He is my partner," said Ziva evasively. "We talk."

Abby pointed at Ziva. "_You've_ been talking to Tony about me and McGee." Ziva shrugged again, and Abby started pacing. "Well, not that it's anybody's business, because there's nothing...to be...the business of anybody, but, yeah, McGee and I had a thing. A while ago. And it didn't work—rule number twelve—and we're friends and, you know, free agents, and that's totally okay. Because it's not like there was anything...."

"I meant how you met on the phone," interrupted Ziva.

Abby stopped pacing. "What exactly did Tony tell you?"

"Just that." Ziva tried to end there, but Abby stared her down. "Just that McGee was...attracted to you from the beginning."

"And?"

"And that you had a lunch date. Or several."

"_And?_"

"And you went out with McGee after talking to him on the phone for one case, but you did not ever care to meet Jack Patterson?"

Abby staggered back. "That's not fair."

Ziva held up her hands the way she did when she was trying to prove she wasn't carrying a weapon. "I am not saying it was your fault. Only that...." Her hands fell by her sides. "They are _Gibbs' _rules, Abby. They do not always apply to others."

"This from the protocol queen," huffed Abby.

"Some things...some people...mean more than protocol." She took Abby by the arm. "I am sorry for your loss."

Abby nodded, even forced a little smile, mostly because she wanted Ziva to know it was okay for her to leave. Once she was alone again she sat down in her chair, spun a few times, and pulled up her instant messenger program.

"You're in a lousy mood today," she typed.

After a short time, the response came. "That makes two of us. But you have a better reason. I'm sorry."

"Can I come be miserable at your place tonight?"

"Need some Jethro time, huh?"

"What can I say?" Abby typed, the corners of her mouth curling up in spite of herself. "He always makes me feel better."

"I'm sure he feels the same way. Sure, come on over."

"Will do. Thanks." She signed off.

All things considered, she was glad she hadn't always followed the rules.


	21. We Missed You, Timmy

**Set after episode 6.23, Legend (Part 2).**

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The morning after they got back from Los Angeles, McGee decided it might be a good idea to come in to work early. Just in case Tony was serious about the tiki hut thing. It turned out that Tony was, incredibly, _under_stating the facts. McGee's jaw dropped as the elevator doors slid open to reveal his desk, festooned with dolphin balloons, pirate paraphernalia, and what did indeed appear to be at least half of a tiki hut. He wasn't sure whether he was walking into his workspace or an old _Gidget_ movie.

He couldn't help but be amused, especially when he saw the big "We Missed You, Timmy!" sign in front of his keyboard, the i's dotted with hearts. Part of him wondered what it would be like to work in this setup for a day, and then he imagined Gibbs' face and decided he'd better clean it up. But first....

He opened his backpack and pulled out a camera. As he was focusing on the balloons, familiar arms snaked around his midsection.

"It's been documented already," Abby said.

"Quite the welcome home," McGee said, stretching the camera up and snapping a self-portrait that showed Abby's face peeking over his shoulder.

"Well, you know." She released him. "I missed Gibbs."

"So I see," replied McGee, looking over at Gibbs' pristine desk.

"He hates surprises."

"And major distractions in the workplace."

"I don't know, he handles Tony pretty well...."

McGee nodded towards his desk. "You do know I have to take this down before he gets in, right?"

She frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Okay. I'll help." She started to pull down the bamboo façade on the front and side of his desk as he collected the balloons.

"You want these in your lab?" he asked, and she shrugged listlessly. "Abby. I loved it. But you know Gibbs...."

"I know," she said. "I just thought this would be a nice transitional space for you. Ease you back into the Washington life."

"I think I can handle it," he laughed, a laugh that stopped abruptly as his expression turned thoughtful. "Wait a second...."

Abby was very interested in making sure there were no pieces of tape left on the corner of McGee's desk.

"Abby, I like it here."

"I know."

"I don't want to transfer to Los Angeles."

"No?" she asked quickly, turning to examine his face for signs of polite lying. "Even though the weather's better? And they have cooler toys than we do?"

"_Much _cooler toys," he concurred covetously. Her smile was a little hesitant. "But we have cooler people."

"We do," she agreed in a firm tone.

"Definitely." He grinned. "Plus, the workspaces in L.A. don't allow nearly enough room for decorations."

"Good." She smiled broadly. "Now, tell me all about the toys."

He practically drooled as he told her about the computers in the L.A. office, his recitation culminating with the giant touchscreen. "It was like iPod Touch meets _Minority Report_. I have never wanted anything more in my whole life."

"Don't say that in front of Tony, okay?" Abby requested.

"Say what?" Tony asked.

McGee looked caught out, but Abby just smiled. "That he missed me more."

"Given the options, who wouldn't?" Tony shrugged. "Especially since you're buying your way into his heart with tiki huts and gift bags."

Abby gasped. "I almost forgot!" She grabbed the gift bag and thrust it at McGee. "Open it!"

He reached inside and pulled out a stuffed toy flamingo. It was wearing sunglasses and a Hawaiian shirt. "Uh...thanks."

"You do know they went to L.A., right, Abs?" Tony asked. "Not so many flamingoes. Traffic jams and pollution, yes. Flamingoes, no."

"And you still would have preferred that to Arizona," said Ziva, who had just emerged from the elevator.

"Absolutely"—Tony switched his word choice as he saw Gibbs at her side—"the boss' call, as usual. Hey, boss."

"DiNozzo." Gibbs stopped in front of McGee's desk.

"Don't yell at him, Gibbs, he didn't do it," defended Abby.

"Would've been kinda hard with him being on the other side of the country. But he's here now." He stared pointedly at McGee.

"Just taking it down, boss."

"I missed you, _too_, Gibbs," Abby reassured him, and there was a glint in his eye as he nodded his acknowledgment. She gathered the balloons and traipsed off on the way to her lab.

It was only after she left that McGee remembered he had been going to berate her for letting Jethro sleep in his bed while she was house-sitting. Under the covers. You'd think anybody who would do that would at least change the sheets before the owner of the bed got home late and found that most of his linens smelt like dog.

He caught a glimpse of the sign she'd drawn for him again and imagined her response: "I couldn't help it that Jethro missed you." He knew if he asked why she felt the need to sleep over at his place instead of just dropping in for dog-sitting duties, her answer would be related to how lonely Jethro had been. It would be better just to let it go.

Besides, he didn't really mind his pillowcase smelling like Abby.


	22. Getting Out of Her Way

**Set during episode 6.24, Semper Fidelis.**

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There are places she tries not to go, and "feeling neglected" is one of them. So when he asks, she brushes it off. Or tries. Because it's kind of hard when she's just had to watch him flirting with some other chick the way he used to flirt with her. Makes her feel...nauseous. Okay, well, nauseous _and _neglected, but she doesn't have to _say_ that. She tries to tease him about it, pretend like he's Tony or Palmer or even Ducky. She crosses her toes for luck, because he'd notice if she crossed her fingers, and hopes he'll go for it.

He breaks eye contact. "She's out of my league anyway," he says.

Abby's mind moves at the speed of light times Caf-Pow. Even as her arm whips out instinctively to smack him in the chest, she has time to do a lot of thinking.

1) He does this all the time. It's gotta be one of her top three least favorite things about him, how much he puts himself down...she probably shouldn't tell him that, it'd only be ammunition. Seriously, though. How many women have flirted with him in the extremely obvious way that this Jules person is flirting with him and he's never picked up on it?

2) _She_ used to be that obvious. More obvious. More aggressive. And he kinda sorta maybe almost fell in love with her, and she kinda sorta really really panicked, and what if that was at a formative stage of his young life and it ruined him for any other woman?

3) Okay, that was totally self-absorbed.

4) But for real, she's seen the way he still looks at her sometimes, and she feels the way she still looks at him, and she doesn't really want him to be with somebody else, because what would they do then, her and McGee? Who would she get to be in on her secret jokes and who would know stuff about her she didn't even think about telling anybody else and who would figure her out on way too many things she didn't actually want him to know and maybe him being distracted would be a _good_ thing.

5) They'd still be close. Like brother and sister. Yeah. That would be good. It would be great. No pressure.

6) Brothers and sisters couldn't stop being brothers and sisters, even if there were long awkward silent periods, because there was that blood connection and you can't break a blood connection, not like marriages that could blow up one, two, three times or end horribly some other way and already the thought of losing him is like taking one of Ziva's knives to the gut and when she thinks like that she doesn't know how Gibbs drags himself out of bed in the morning, even now.

7) She can't be it. She can't. She can't be _her_. But at least she can get out of her way.

So she hits him for saying Jules is out of his league, and insists, "No, she isn't," and she keeps her face steady and hopes he is happy, she really does.

"Thanks, Abs," he says.

"What are friends for?" she asks, and he smiles and squeezes her shoulder and turns away. When the door closes behind him that invisible knife to the gut twists a little bit.

It's a good thing she isn't wearing waterproof mascara or she might have gotten saltwater on her keyboard.


	23. Trial Run

**Set during the backstory events of episode 7.1, Truth or Consequences.**

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McGee knocked at the door of Abby's lab as he entered.

"Heading out?" she asked.

He nodded. "Real soon."

She took a deep breath and nodded back at him.

"Don't worry about us," he said reassuringly. "We'll be fine."

"Oh, you're not going to die, Tim," she asserted. "I am so not worried about that. I just know, to the utmost level of knowingness, that you are going to find that cell and fulfill your mission and come back alive."

"And in one piece?" he smiled, gratified by her confidence.

Abby's brow furrowed. "Well...."

"Abby, come on. I thought you were being encouraging."

"I'm not being encouraging, I'm being serious. You're not gonna die. You just aren't."

He found himself nodding in the not-sure-where-she's-going-with-this way he often found himself nodding around her. "But I might not come back in one piece."

"Well, not necessarily. I mean—well, if I'm still speaking seriously, here—there's actually a pretty good chance you'll get tortured."

McGee threw his head back in frustration.

Abby winced. "I'm not helping."

"_No_," he said emphatically. "No, you're really not." Her eyes lit up, and he took a step back. "And now you're scaring me."

"You know what would help?"

"No, Abby," he said, drawing the words out like he was talking to Jethro. "No, bad."

"Come on, it's a great idea. It helped with your polygraph two years ago, remember?"

"A run-through with a lie detector is a lot different than a run-through with torture. You cannot cut me."

She shuddered. "Ew, gross, McGee. I'm not _that _kind of Goth. I don't even like the sight of blood. You know, on the living. And especially not on my friends."

McGee looked confused. "So...what did you have in mind?"

* * *

Thirty minutes later, McGee was laughing so hard he was crying.

"Where is the rebel base?" Abby was growling as Gibbs walked in.

He cleared his throat and quirked an eyebrow. Abby stood up quickly and stuck both hands behind her back as McGee struggled to collect himself.

"Thought we knew the base's location already," he said.

"Oh, for the...that one...we do," replied Abby. "It was...actually, it was a movie reference, which Tony would've gotten."

Gibbs nodded towards Abby's back, and she reluctantly brought her hands out. She was holding a reproduction quill pen, complete with large feather.

"Should I ask?" said Gibbs.

"Nope," Abby replied.

He shrugged and turned away. "Send McGee up when you're done with him."

"Yes, sir, Gibbs, sir," said Abby, saluting with the pen.

"And Abs?" he said.

"Yes, Gibbs?"

"You're done now."

"Yes, Gibbs," she said meekly. "Have a safe trip, Gibbs."

With their boss gone, she unlocked the handcuffs that held McGee to the chair.

"That was...interesting," he said, licking his finger and scrubbing it on the sketch of the bat on the left side of his chest.

"Feel ready for anything?" she asked.

He caught her wrist before she could bring the feathered side of the pen in contact with his skin again. "I don't think anybody tortures like you do, Abby."

"Aww, Timmy," she smirked. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

He rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. She grabbed his hand. "Don't mess with that, it's art."

"It's a badly drawn bat."

"Would've been a better drawn bat if you hadn't been laughing so hard," she said. She swung their linked hands back and forth. "Kick some terrorist butt for me."

"Before or after I get tortured?"

"Whenever works for you," she said, and handed him his shirt.

He looked down at the bat sketch again as he pulled the shirt on. "I can't believe you filled it in with permanent marker. If Tony sees this, I'll never live it down."

"Hide it, McGee of mystery," she said. She stood back and watched him fasten the buttons. "There. Nobody can see it now. It's like...your secret good-luck bat."

He shook his head. "I'm sure that explanation will make sense to the torturers."

She punched him on the shoulder. "Well, good luck anyway, Mr. Negativity. Don't lose any fingers." At his crestfallen expression, she shrugged. "What? I like your hands."

McGee stood expectantly.

"What are you waiting for?"

"Oh," he said. "I thought...."

"No hugs til you're home safe, Tim."

"Is that a new rule?"

"Yup. It's good enough to be a Gibbs rule, except Gibbs' version would be more like 'no hugs ever...unless you're Abby.' And he'd be saying...."

"No hugs ever _even_ for Abby if she doesn't send my agent up to me," said Gibbs from the video phone. Abby jumped. "We got a plane to catch, McGee."

"Sorry, boss," he said, and headed towards the elevator. He stopped at the door and waved to Abby with both hands. "I'll take good care of them for you."

"And I'll take good care of Jethro for _you_."

He double-waved again as the elevator doors slid closed. As soon as they did, Abby grabbed her hippo and squeezed hard.

"We're not worried, Bert," she said. "They're going over there and they're not going to die and they won't lose any fingers and they'll probably even find Ziva's alive, after all." She held him up and stared into his eyes. "Well, _you_ look convinced, anyway."


	24. Flying Navy

**Set towards the end of episode 7.1, Truth or Consequences.**

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Sometimes when people complained about flying coach, McGee wanted to roll his eyes. Or slap them. He never did, of course. He (almost) always nodded politely and commiserated, instead. But seriously? Flying coach was luxurious compared to flying Navy. Less turbulence, more comfortable seats, bathrooms....

Now, though, his past Navy flights were shining in his memory like a trip on Air Force One. Back then, he hadn't been aching over every square inch of his body (so much for the good-luck bat Abby had drawn on his chest, although he _had_ managed to escape with all of his fingers and Tony had _not_ ever seen the bat, so maybe it was just lucky enough). Back then, he hadn't been riding in silence, keeping a nervous eye on his boss and his partners. Those were the days.

The plane hit a particularly rough patch, and he instinctively looked up at Ziva. Her eyes screwed shut and her lips tightened, she barely appeared to be breathing. He risked a quick glance at Gibbs, whose eyes were also closed—incredibly, the team leader appeared to be sleeping. His eyes flicked to Tony's next. His partner's somber expression softened just a touch, and McGee felt reassured. As long as one of his colleagues was making it through this, there was hope.

Ziva opened her eyes and McGee disappeared. Or felt like he did, considering how quickly Tony's gaze shifted. Which was okay. He didn't really want to stare deeply into his partner's soul any longer than that. It was a guy thing.

He leaned his head against the wall behind him and sighed. They still had several hours to get through before they made it back to D.C., and who knows how many hours of debriefing afterwards. He'd better try to get what sleep he could.

The ringing of a cell phone jarred him awake. He cringed and massaged his neck. Gibbs walked past him, away from Ziva.

"Yeah. Yeah, we're here. All of us." Pause. "He's fine." Pause. "Him, too." Pause. "She's here." Pause. "We'll see you soon." Another pause, a deep sigh, and Gibbs was holding out the phone to McGee.

McGee got up and took it, pressing even further towards the back of the plane than Gibbs had. "Abby? I didn't even think Gibbs' cell would get a signal here. Is this a legal call?"

"I've been trying for the past three hours, and hello to you, too, Tim."

"Sorry. I was...."

"No, no, I'm not mad, I'm not mad," she said contritely. "I'm too glad to be mad."

"You're rhyming," he said, closing his eyes and leaning into her voice. The tension in his shoulders was easing away.

"How's Ziva? Gibbs tells me nothing."

McGee glanced over his shoulder. Ziva was staring at the floor, Tony and Gibbs were staring at Ziva...pretty much the pattern since the beginning of the trip. "Can't say."

Abby growled in frustration.

"Not that I _can't _say, I just...I can't tell. Yet. I mean I don't know. Not great."

"But alive. Alive is great."

"I guess so."

"You _guess_ so?"

He shrugged, despite the fact Abby was still hundreds of miles away. "You're not here."

"Don't rub it in," she said.

Gibbs cleared his throat and held out his hand.

"I gotta go, Abs."

"No," she said.

"No?"

"Gibbs is telling you to go, isn't he? So I guess you'd better. I just...."

"We missed you, too," he said. "We'll be home soon."

"Wait!"

"Abby, I really have to...."

"Did it work?"

"What?" he asked.

"The practice. The good-luck bat."

McGee opened his mouth to say no, but then he remembered the times he'd been distracted by hoping Tony wouldn't wake up and see the bat sketch; the times he'd focused all his mental energy at remembering the "torture" session with Abby; the times he'd been relieved she hadn't been there with them and simultaneously relieved that, in a way, she was.

"It worked," he said.

"I always said a bat tattoo would make you feel like a hero," she said with satisfaction.

He smiled. "Something like that."

After he hung up McGee sat down again, the short conversation with Abby looping in his head a welcome change from looping all the events of the past few days or wondering how many days Ziva was running through. When he tossed the phone back to Gibbs, he couldn't see any hint on his boss' face that Gibbs knew you weren't supposed to have cell phones left on when you were flying. Or maybe he knew and just didn't care. It wasn't like there were any flight attendants back here to notice.

There were definitely some perks to flying Navy.


	25. Ending Silent Treatments

**Set during episode 7.2, Reunion.**

* * *

McGee's French fry stopped halfway to his mouth. "You said _what_?"

"Come on," said Abby. "I told you I was gonna tell her."

He shrugged. "Well, yeah, I just wasn't sure you were serious. I mean, I was sure you were serious, it's just that.... Wow, Abby." She rolled her shoulders in a half-defensive, half-apologetic motion. "The woman just came back from North Africa. Who knows what she's been through?"

"How can anybody know when she won't even talk to us?" Abby protested.

"We need to give her some time."

"No, McGee," she snapped. "The more time you give somebody, the harder it is to talk."

He chewed a bite of sandwich meditatively. "Think so?"

"I've had enough awkward conversations hanging over my head to know so."

He frowned. "But...you usually _initiate_ the awkward conversations."

"Not the really awkward ones, just the surface awkward ones."

"You mean sometimes you keep running on and on to avoid anything that really matters?"

"I don't wanna talk about it." Her eyes widened. "_See?_"

He shook his head. "Strangely, yes, I do."

"That's what I like about you, McGee," she said. "No explanations required."

"If I required them, would I...."

"Nope," she said.

"Which is why I don't."

She stared at him suspiciously. "Circular logic aside, McGee, this is serious."

He paused before answering to give his brain time to recall what they had been talking about. It didn't take long. He'd had lots of practice.

"She'll probably come around," he said. "She's just...."

"Just scared," said Abby. "Just terrified that nobody will ever see her the same way again."

"Because of what happened in Africa?"

"Because of how she left," Abby said. She stuffed a bite of salad into her mouth and talked around it. "For real, Timmy, sometimes you're so clueless about women it's distressing."

Nudging another French fry into his ketchup suddenly absorbed all of McGee's concentration. "Ouch," he said lightly.

Abby winced. "You're right. Too harsh. Sorry."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not," she insisted. "It's the kind of stupid thing someone says that leads to another stupid thing and another stupid thing and then you're flying across the Atlantic without talking to anybody, and that flight takes hours."

McGee tried to picture Abby spending hours sitting in somber silence on a plane, even one filled with complete strangers. The image was so incongruous that he laughed out loud. Abby glared at him.

"You couldn't do it," he said by way of explanation.

"Oh, couldn't I?" she said, and she had that irritated-determined look in her eye he'd long since learned was trouble.

"I didn't mean...."

Abby took another bite of salad and chewed it in silence, her stare boring into McGee.

He thought of trying to explain that what he meant was that even though she was the most effusively emotional person he had ever met, she was also the most resilient; that he didn't think anything, even months of torture, could break her; that her run-on babbling spurts had cleared the clouds from many of his days; that he didn't want her to change...well, except maybe for one thing. But that was one of those awkward conversations they'd talked about, and a lot of time had accumulated.

He settled into the stare instead, and when he saw her eyes start to water he blinked quickly, and she crowed in triumph and immediately clapped her hands over her mouth. His eyes shone with suppressed laughter.

"That's not fair," she said. "I can't ever silent-treatment you for long."

_You can't ever do it to _anybody_, Abby_, he thought, but he said, "I like it that way."

She smiled and stole one of his fries. "You gotta help me get those two talking again. I _know_ Ziva doesn't really hate Tony."

"Which is probably why she's having such a hard time talking to him right now," McGee acknowledged. "Gibbs, too. She'll come around, Abs, she just needs time to realize that even making big mistakes can't stop your real friends from caring about you. We don't need to throw logical arguments at her, we just have to make sure she knows we're still here for her."

She sat back, nodding. "You're not that clueless about women after all, Tim. Have a crouton."

"Thank you," he said.

"I don't like croutons anyway," she said.

But he was pretty sure she knew his thanks wasn't for that.


	26. Stings Like Truth

**Set near the end of episode 7.3, The Inside Man**

* * *

Nobody knocked on the door to Abby's lab. Nobody. For one thing, barring times when she wasn't there or when she was sequestering herself to work on top-secret projects, it was nearly always open. For another thing, assuming she was in her lab, she'd have her music going, and good luck getting heard over the dulcet tones of Android Lust. Which was what happened to be playing when Agent Susan Grady knocked on the open door of the lab.

In Susan's defense, her parents had raised her to be extremely polite, and her throat-clearing had had no effect whatsoever. Neither did the knocking, but she was not one to give up easily. She slammed her fist against the door so forcefully and so repetitively that Abby paused, listened carefully for a few seconds as though perhaps she had just never noticed the driving bass on this particular track of the CD, then turned around curiously.

"Susan?" she said. She picked up her remote and lowered the volume on her stereo by about twenty decibels. "You left the polygraph room?"

Seeing Susan Grady out of the polygraph room was like seeing Abby out of her lab—rare and slightly disorienting. Both women were obsessive about the machines under their care.

Susan nodded. "Yeah. How's Major Mass Spec?"

Abby cast a loving look at her mass spectrometer. "Peak condition. Cracker?"

"Cracker" was the last name of Susan's polygraph machine (first name "Pollyanna"), and her preferred term of address for the device. She had had to stop calling it that out loud, though. One day her supervisor had walked in to her complaining over her computer that "that Cracker is way off today...what are we going to do about it?" Her supervisor was not an understanding man and it had taken the better part of half an hour to explain herself.

"Sharp like a whip and stings like the truth," said Susan.

Abby's grin faded into a dubious grimace. "So...not a chance she might've been wrong about McGee?"

The other woman shook her head ferociously. "Far more likely Agent McGee was wrong about her."

"How so?"

"People fear her, you know. They fear her because they can't fool her."

Maybe Ziva would've questioned that statement, would've suggested that surely sometimes a polygraph provided an inaccurate reading, but Abby's heart and soul was bound up in her lab and she knew that to question a beloved and well-cared-for machine was to question the person who cared for it. Still....

"I don't think McGee's the cowardly type," she said defensively.

"He doesn't fear his polygraph test?"

Abby hesitated. "Well...okay, well, so he does, kind of, but it's a completely irrational fear. He can be totally brave when he's not thinking about it."

"Agent DiNozzo told me that Agent McGee had died."

"What?" Abby asked, incredulous. "And you believed Tony?"

Susan shook her head. "Abby. Please. I haven't been partnered with Cracker for this long without learning a few things. Of course he was lying..."

"Joking," substituted Abby.

"Either way, it indicated that Agent McGee is avoiding his polygraph. That sort of thing won't look good on his record."

"You're not gonna...."

"I'm not here to discuss Agent McGee's test results, or potential test results," Susan rushed on. "Assuming, that is, that he can ever finish his test. He ran out right in the middle of the last one." Her eyes glazed over as she recalled the closeness of the room, the recorded spike in his heart rate as she intentionally slid her hand alongside his. She coughed, clearing her head of the images. "You've spent a lot of time with him, Abby. Is he usually so irresponsible?"

"So he has a little test paranoia, that's a long way from being irresponsible. Nobody likes tests."

"You love tests."

Abby grinned sheepishly. "I do. But I'm a very confident person. Plus, I love machines. Not that McGee doesn't love machines. He does." Her brow furrowed as she realized what else she'd said. "And not that he isn't confident, he's just not very…he's better with PCs than polygraphs."

"Seems to show a certain level of emotional cluelessness, though, would you agree?"

"Hang on a second," laughed Abby. "Is he in trouble, or are you just stalking him?"

Susan looked at her steadily, and Abby flushed.

"It's the latter," Abby muttered to himself. "Wow. They're coming out of the woodwork."

"Woodwork?" asked Susan.

"It's just that with all these women after him, it's like Tim's the new Tony." Abby turned back to her desk and grabbed her Caf-Pow. "He's steadier than Tony ever was, obviously, but he could...."

"Could what? Be swayed?"

Abby took a long quick pull at her Caf-Pow, then another, and another. At the gurgling of air in the straw, she sighed deeply. The ice in the cup rattled as she waved it in farewell on her way out of the lab. "Nice catching up, Susan, I've gotta go for a refill, see you around."

Even in the abstracted state that enveloped her after that incident, Susan was careful to close the door of the lab behind her when she left. She was so absorbed in thought on the way back to her room that McGee had his hands on her shoulders before she noticed he was there.

"Whoa," he said. "You okay?"

She looked down at his hands and he pulled them away.

"Sorry. It's just...you almost ran into me."

"It's all right," she said. She looked into his face and saw that he knew, now, why she had been asking him to come for another polygraph. He knew what she was after, and he seemed to be okay with it. The phrase "coming out of the woodwork" echoed in her brain. Not a pleasant self-image.

"I was just visiting Abby," she said.

Gauging his reaction proved interesting. His eyebrows shot up and his breath hitched before he replied, "Abby Sciuto?" It was an unnecessary clarification, as there were no other women named Abby at NCIS.

"Yes," she affirmed. "I'm surprised she manages to get any work done at all in that room, what with that noise blaring and all the Caf-Pow she guzzles."

"Her taste in music is different, I'll grant you that," he said, and she noticed the slight emphasis he placed on the word "music." "But she doesn't drink as much Caf-Pow as you might think. I don't think I've seen her get her own in months. I thinks she's been living off the ones Gibbs brings her." Susan quirked an eyebrow. "For rewards," McGee went on. "Gibbs likes to bring her a Caf-Pow when she's done a really good job on a case. They have a special kind of relationship."

"Hm," she said, looking at him oddly. "It sounds like they do."

He stared at her, started to open his mouth to say something decidedly off the topic they had been discussing, but she cut him off.

"Well, Agent McGee, your test came back all right after all. There was a calibration problem, but I fixed it after you came in last time. You're free to go."

He looked crestfallen. "Oh. In that case, it sounds like you have some time on your hands. Would you like...."

She shook her head. "Not really. I have a lot of reports to run. Good evening, Agent McGee." And she sidled past him into the polygraph room and shut her door in his confused face.

Susan Grady was not one to give up easily, but her parents had raised her to respect other people's territory.


	27. The Jonas Brothers Debacle

**Set the October before 7.4, Code of Conduct.**

* * *

It was hard to walk like this. He glanced at his watch—8:00 a.m. and his circulation was already cutting off. He hoped it was just for the day and that he wasn't doing himself any permanent harm.

He heard Ziva's voice as he emerged from the elevator.

"Why should I? _You_ did not dress up for Halloween." Her semi-irritated mock-accusing tone could only mean she was talking to....

"I did dress up," Tony deadpanned.

"And who are you supposed to be?"

"The most attractive man in America. You disagree?"

"I would not...."

"Great McGoogly moogly," gasped Tony.

Ziva turned and the laugh that exploded from her made everybody within a thirty foot radius look up. "Having some trouble with your laundry, McGee?"

He shook his head. "Very funny. They're supposed to fit like this."

"You use the term 'fit' very _loosely_," said Tony. He nodded at Ziva. "That was a pun. It's a common American form of humor, hard to pick up on if you don't know the language extremely well."

"That is not why I did not laugh," said Ziva.

McGee walked as casually as possible over to his desk, ignoring the heads popping up over the surrounding cubicle walls. Gibbs came around the corner as he was lowering himself carefully into his chair.

"Been out horseback riding, McGee?"

"Possibly struck by lightning while you were out?" added Tony, pointing to the curly wig McGee was sporting.

"It's a Halloween costume," McGee explained patiently.

"Whatever it is, saddle up," said Gibbs. "We got a dead Marine just a few blocks from here."

"A few blocks?" said Tony. "Why even take the car? McGee and I'll just run the whole way there."

Ziva slung her backpack over her shoulder and patted his stomach. "An occasional run and your Halloween costume might actually become somewhat believable."

McGee trailed behind the other three, trying not to waddle like a penguin and feeling that he wasn't succeeding very well. As he finally entered the elevator, Gibbs raised his eyebrows and glanced at his head.

"Right," said McGee, grabbing the wig off. "Sorry, boss."

The crime scene was not kind to McGee. He lagged behind everyone. He couldn't crouch down to take pictures. Ducky launched into a medical lecture on the dangers of restricting blood flow to the lower half of the body. And climbing back into the van after everything was documented took a ridiculous amount of time.

When they walked back into the bullpen, Vance was coming down the stairs. "Agent Gibbs," he called. "I need the status on...." He trailed off as he reached the landing and caught sight of McGee, who was pulling his wig out of his backpack. "Agent McGee?"

He jumped and stuffed the wig into the backpack again. "Yes, sir?"

"Would you consider that proper work attire?"

"No, sir, not usually. But it's Halloween, so I thought...."

"I don't figure that much thought went into that get-up," said Vance. "Get home and changed or get yourself a jumpsuit."

"Sir, could I just...."

"And don't you let me see that wig on you, no matter _what_ you're wearing," Vance interrupted in a tone of finality. "This is a federal agency. We cater to the needs of the American population as a whole, not just its screaming adolescent girl segment."

McGee looked startled.

"I have a 10-year-old daughter," said Vance. "I know who Nick Jonas is. Agent Gibbs, could you please come to my office?"

Gibbs left the bullpen without making eye contact with his reprimanded team member. A grin was tugging at the corner of his mouth. Tony shook his head. "Too bad, McTeen Beat. Your first time dressing up at work and everything. Better luck next year."

McGee sighed and pulled a pair of jeans in his own size out of one of his desk drawers. "I'll be right back."

He walked dejectedly into Abby's lab, carrying the jeans in one hand and adjusting his wig with the other. "Hey, Abs."

She spun around excitedly and her eyes widened. "Um...wow, McGee."

"Yeah." He held up the jeans in his hand. "Vance said I should change, but I wanted to show you the costume first."

"I think he's right," she said. "I mean, it was a fun idea, but I think I like you better with...well...a little more left to the imagination."

He chuckled. "Honestly? Me, too. I've only been wearing these pants for half a day and I'm starting to lose all feeling from the waist down." He headed back towards her office. "Can I change here?"

"Wait!" she exclaimed. "We need a picture first! Stand right over there."

McGee moved obediently to the spot she had pointed out as she fidgeted with her camera, placing it on a shelf and setting a timer. She rushed over to him and threw her arms around his neck, leaning her head against his. The flash went off and she ran back, flipping the camera to display mode. He looked over her shoulder.

There he was, curly hair and skinny tie and impossibly tight jeans and all, and there was Abby, her own wig cascading wavy brown hair nearly down to her waist over a tight sequined shirt that stopped just above her impossibly short shorts.

Even if thinking the opposite wouldn't have practically made him a pedophile, McGee would've thought she was way hotter than Miley Cyrus.

"We are too cute for words," gushed Abby. She paused, then looked over at McGee in apprehension. "Did I just say that? Do you think the wig might be too tight? I think I need to change, too."

He laughed and held out his hand. "Let's go have lunch first. Turn a few more heads."

She grabbed his hand and smiled. "Timmy, I like the way you think."

He pulled the door closed as they left the lab.

"But after this," she added, "please promise me you'll never wear those pants again."

It wasn't a difficult promise to make.


	28. Something Going on With Avocados

**Set during episode 7.7, Endgame.**

* * *

Abby put the empty cup on the platform below the spigot. She looked to the right, then to the left. No one in sight. She took two steps back and arched her spine, leaning out of the break room door to see around the corners. To the left...nobody. To the right....

"Tony!" she exclaimed, teetering on her platform heels.

He held a hand under her elbow to stabilize her. "Fancy meeting you here." He nodded at the Caf-Pow machine. "Gibbs not forthcoming today?"

She shook her head. "I tried to hold out, but I was up really late last night, so...."

Tony stepped in front of her, fed a handful of quarters into the Caf-Pow machine, and punched a button. A stream of familiar red liquid poured into the cup.

"You're the best," she grinned.

"We can't have our prize forensic expert slowed by a midnight bowling session with the sisters."

"I wasn't bowling, I was IM-ing. And the sisters don't use any IM programs...well, except for Facebook chat. And he forgot how late it was because it isn't so late there."

Tony shook his head and tapped an ear. "Sorry, Abs, I must've taken one too many hits to the head in the line of duty. I think I missed a whole sentence or something."

"He's in L.A.," she clarified. "I haven't met him yet. I need to get the lowdown from Gibbs."

Tony sniffed the air. "I love the smell of romance in the morning." Abby's grin lasted as long as it took for him to get the next few words out. "Between you and McGoo...."

"McGee's been IM-ing somebody, too?"

"Nope, she's a live one," said Tony, punching a code into the vending machine. "The Elf Lord is branching out beyond cyberspace."

"Good for him," said Abby mechanically.

Tony grabbed two granola bars from the machine and waved a farewell. She followed him out of the room and turned towards her lab.

Ten minutes later, Jimmy Palmer would enter the break room, see an abandoned Caf-Pow, and dispose of it so as not to put Abby in danger from a poisoner.

* * *

"You did _not_ tell her," Ziva said, her voice containing equal parts incredulity and reprimand.

"Tell who what?" asked McGee as he rounded the corner.

"Nobody," said Tony. "Nothing. Certainly nothing about you, first-Probie-once-removed."

McGee refused the bait. He was having way too good of a day for that.

"Answer me this, though: fall or spring wedding?"

McGee answered his phone instead. It was Abby. She had that incredibly focused edge to her voice that meant she had come across something big, and he would have taken a lesser excuse to get out of the bullpen. Ziva's decisive response "Spring" had Tony describing how well a fur-edged winter cape would complement her skin tone and Gibbs obviously about two seconds away from assigning them both the worst detail work on this case.

* * *

He looked focused. Not starry-eyed. No extra spring to his step. He _looked_ normal. Except that when he came to see her, he usually looked..._different_ normal. Visiting-his-good-friend-Abby normal. Today he was in full and complete co-worker mode, as if they weren't the kind of co-workers who went to lunch together, and shared in-jokes, and hugged. Not that she didn't have in-jokes with Ziva. Or that she wouldn't go to lunch with Tony. Or hug Gibbs. Or Ducky. Or any of them. Still....

She tried to talk business, or as much as she could considering she didn't have a complete report, but he called her out on it. He was ready to leave less than forty-five seconds after arriving. Not a good sign.

"Hey, McGee?"

"Yeah?"

"You look, um..." A strange mix of foreboding, curiosity, and pride swirled somewhere between her heart and her stomach as she surveyed him. "...happy."

"I do?" he responded with a confused chuckle.

"Yeah," she said, not sure how to follow up on her previous statement. "It's, um, it's...becoming, actually, you look...confident." Every time he needed her less.... She brushed the thought away. "Is there anything you wanna tell me?"

He paused only briefly. "No."

Nothing. Not a glimmer of recognition. She was going to have to get right to the point. With McGee, of all people.

"You sure?" she prompted, feeling a little lost. "Nothing's new? Nothing at all?"

This was the part where he was supposed to look sheepish and say it hadn't even really been a date, let alone anything more, and then she would encourage him to believe in himself, except he didn't look sheepish, he just kept looking disturbingly normal, and he admitted to it. He was seeing someone. For real.

She conjured up a smile and rushed him. "I know," she said as she pushed back. "And I'm _thrilled_. I _totally_ am. I was just waiting for you to say it."

"Word travels fast."

"Well, tell me about her," she said, but upon seeing how thrown off Tim looked she remembered this wasn't like talking cute guys with Ziva. "No, you know what? Don't. You don't have to. I'm just...I think it's...excellent."

He thanked her, and turned to go, and suddenly she was telling him about Eric, starting off as if she were going to ask him what he thought of him. She had been meaning to ask Gibbs. She didn't like telling McGee about anybody she was interested in dating for the same reason she didn't like kicking puppies, but today with him being so happy and confident and everything she figured he could handle it.

He didn't look like a kicked puppy at all. He didn't even seem to register what she'd said. In fact, he looked like he thought she was wasting his time.

Talking to her. A waste of time. That was new.

But then, he was seeing someone. That was new, too. Usually he'd just say it had been a date, just one date, that he wasn't so sure about it from there. And he looked better than he had in ages, and she was sure she remembered him saying nice things about Eric, and Eric reminded her of McGee so much, and she was happy, happy, happy for him. For McGee. He deserved to be happy.

Just as suddenly as she had brought the subject up, she very strongly did _not_ want to know what McGee thought about Eric. Somehow instead she got on the topic of her second cousin's wedding and that weird allergic reaction to avocados that had never flared up until then, except maybe in retrospect she could tell there had been something going on with avocados before, and if she hadn't been so stupid as not to pay attention she might have had a lot of really great memories instead of really, really missing out.

After McGee made his excuses and walked away, her mind flashed back to the hug and it dawned on her that it had been like...like hugging Vance. Okay, not Vance, Vance would've resisted more, but it was not like hugging a friend. Even a just co-worker friend.

Deep down inside, she felt as off-balance right now as she had in the break room that morning. But this time, there wasn't anybody to catch her.


	29. The Elevator Walls Were Closing In

**Set just before episode 7.8, Power Down.**

* * *

**11:15 p.m.**

"I am going to go home and have a nice long soak in the tub," said Ziva as she slung her bag over her shoulder. "My neck feels like a block of iron."

McGee nodded and switched off his computer. "I know what you mean. I'm going to plug in my new shiatsu cushion as soon as I get back, myself."

Ziva's eyes narrowed. "You have a cushion shaped like a lapdog? How does that help you relax?"

"Not shih tzu, shiatsu. It's a massage technique."

"That you plug in?"

"Yeah."

Ziva walked to the elevator and pressed the button, smirking.

"What?" McGee asked suspiciously as he caught up to her.

"Nothing," she said. "It is just...I prefer massages of the non-electric kind."

The elevator doors slid open and the agents entered.

McGee punched the button for the ground floor. "So do I, but it's not like...."

Ziva grabbed McGee's arm as the elevator jerked and stopped. The main lights went out and they were left in the blue glow of the backups.

"This is not good," muttered McGee.

"Do not be so worried," said Ziva. "I am sure they will resolve the problem soon."

"You're probably right. I'll give maintenance a call. Let them know where we are." He flipped open his phone and punched a few numbers. "Ohhh, no."

"No answer?"

"No service. This is worse than I thought."

"It will be all right. Just remain calm."

* * *

**12:40 a.m.**

"It's been an hour and ten minutes," McGee reported.

"Really?" asked Ziva. "Seems like seconds ago it had only been an hour. You see, time is moving faster."

He grimaced. "Glad I used the bathroom before I left."

"You are not good at this 'remaining calm' business."

"No, no, I'd rather be at home sleeping, thank you."

"There is nothing stopping you from sleeping here in the elevator."

"Really? If that's true, why are _you_ still awake?"

Ziva stared at him pointedly.

"Oh. Sorry." He sat down and watched as Ziva stretched out on the elevator floor and propped herself up on her elbows.

"It will not be so bad, McGee," she assured him. "It will be like a sleepover."

"You had sleepovers as a kid?"

"Not at all," she said. "This will be my first one."

"I'm not going to be much help at traditional girl sleepover stuff," he said. "I don't have any nail polish or hair ties on me."

For an instant, Ziva looked mildly disturbed, but then her face relaxed. "Your sister."

"I was never allowed anywhere _near_ them," he said.

"So of course you wanted to go."

He shook his head. "Actually, being around a roomful of giggling pre-teen girls was never high on my list of things I wanted to do. But I did get roped into a few of them. Sarah even got me to let them paint my toenails once."

"You were the fascinating older brother."

"Hardly. I was a geek even to them."

Ziva laughed. "I would not be so sure. The female mind is a mysterious place."

"Tell me about it."

"Do you know the rules of a game called Cash?"

"Never heard of it."

"Hm. Abby said it was a very popular sleepover game. Something about where you will live when you grow up."

McGee's eyes drifted to the ceiling as he searched his brain for any similar games his sister had played. "It's MASH," he said. "And don't ever tell Tony that I knew it that quickly."

"How is it played?"

"I am not going to play MASH. Not with you, not with anybody."

**

* * *

1:25 a.m.**

"It stands for Mansion, Apartment, House, Shack."

"Abby said...."

"Mausoleum. Okay, so you've written MASH across the top of the napkin, so underneath that write the names of four men."

"Tony, Gibbs, McGee, and Ducky. Next?"

"Four places you would like to be bur...to live."

"D.C., New York, Paris...mmm...Cairo. Abby plays it as 'buried,' yes?"

"Yes. Numbers."

Ziva continued filling out the napkin, writing down four numbers, four types of car, four colors, and four jobs.

"...elevator inspector," she finished, and McGee rolled his eyes. "What next?"

"Pick a number."

"I already...."

"Another number. Say between one and ten."

"Six."

"Okay, now all we do is count down the list with that number and cross off anything that we land on, like this." He started calculating, tapping his pencil down Ziva's lists. A moment later, he cleared his throat dramatically. "Ahem," he declared. "Your future awaits."

She waved a hand for him to continue.

"First of all, you should know that you're going to wind up as an elevator inspector. I can only imagine your lifelong love for the profession has been born this very night."

"Quite logical."

"You'll have a blue SUV, which you'll need for shuttling your four kids from your house to other parts of New York."

"Four kids, huh?"

"Tony's going to be so proud."

"What?" She snatched the napkin from his hand and began tapping the pencil against it herself. Once she reached the same conclusion that McGee had, she growled and crumpled up the napkin. "It is a stupid game."

"Never said it wasn't."

She threw the napkin at him and it bounced off his forehead. "Your turn."

"You said it was stupid."

"It is, but _you_ forced _me_ to play it, so_ I_ am forcing _you_ to play it."

"I didn't force..." McGee began, but Ziva was looking irritable and he thought better of it.

He started his list.

"None of those women are real."

"What?"

"You have written Arwen, Lois Lane, and Seven of Nine. I am wagering that Sharon Valerii is also an imaginary character."

"There's no rule that says you have to...."

"You did not tell me what would happen," she insisted. "No. Write down the names of people you know."

"Okay, okay."

"And one of them has to be Abby."

He glared at her. "Why?"

"Why? Why? Maybe because you have me happily-ever-after-ing with Tony and it is time for you to get your comeoffance."

McGee was too annoyed to correct her. "I didn't do that on purpose."

"Certainly not. Write 'Abby.'"

"No."

"That is it," said Ziva. "It is time for the sleeping part of the sleepover. Good night, Agent McGee." She pushed everything on the floor into the corner and lay down on her side with her back to him.

"Fine," he said. Two could play that game.

* * *

**4:27 a.m.**

"That's cheating," said Abby.

"It isn't," said McGee.

"Is so."

"I would like to see where in the MASH rulebook it says that."

"McGee"—Abby puffed out an irritated breath—"your way is no fun."

He looked down at his page.

Abby

Abby

Abby

Abby

"Who's more fun than you?"

She narrowed her eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing. Sometimes I think you might have a little Tony in you after all."

"I hope not."

"Oh, come on, McGee. You should give him a chance. You don't even know him."

"I know him," he protested.

"You _met_ him. It's not the same thing."

"He just seems a little immature."

Abby pointed her finger in his face. "_Seems_. Wheels within wheels, Timmy." He shrugged and looked down at his page again. Laughing, she put two fingers beneath his chin and tilted his head up. "You're cute when you're jealous."

"I thought you hated people being jealous."

"Oh, I do," she said, leaning forward.

"But I'm cute?"

"I dunno." She brushed her nose back and forth against his. "Somehow you pull it off."

After that, who knows what kind of babbling would have crossed his lips if they weren't otherwise occupied.

**

* * *

4:29 a.m.**

McGee jerked awake to Ziva repeatedly poking him in the arm with a pen.

"Ziva," she said.

He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. "Huh?"

"I am Ziva."

"I know," he mumbled.

"Hm. Then perhaps there was another reason you were saying 'Abby' in your sleep."

"I was not. I was saying...." He was too tired to come up with anything. "Nothing."

She smirked. "Dreaming of Abby coming to our rescue?"

"No. Can I go back to sleep?"

"Of course," Ziva said innocently.

He settled himself on his other side, still facing away from her, and clamped his lips together tightly until he heard her breathing slowly enough that he guessed she was sleeping.

He hadn't thought about his first kiss with Abby in a long time. It used to be something he played over and over in his head, that and other moments, but.... It had been a long time.

Stupid MASH. Stupid Ziva. Stupid elevator.

He could feel his brain functions dropping like...like a broken elevator.

He wished he hadn't thought of that.

* * *

**7:15 a.m.**

"I think you have been without technology for too long," said Ziva. "You are getting twitchy."

"Yes, I am," he said defensively. "And excuse me for taking this seriously. We could die."

"We will not die."

"How do you know?"

"We have been in far worse situations, and we have always survived."

"Yeah? Well, here's a newsflash for you, Ziva: it only takes one time."

"You are being ridiculous."

"What if we're dead already?" he asked. "What if this is hell?"

"You are saying your idea of hell is being trapped in an enclosed space...up a few floors...with me?"

That threw him, but he recovered quickly. "Maybe." Okay, maybe not a full recovery.

"You are less imaginative than I would have given you credit for. Do not worry so much. Someone will try to use the elevator at any moment, and it will not work, and they will...."

There was a loud knock on the door.

McGee leapt to his feet. "Hello!"

"McGee?" came the faint voice of Jimmy Palmer. "Are you stuck?"

In answer, McGee pounded both fists against the door until Ziva grabbed his wrists.

"Yes, Jimmy, we are stuck," she said.

"All the elevators are down," replied Palmer. "Agent Grady and I have been going around knocking on the doors trying to find people."

"That's fascinating, Jimmy, now get us _out_," growled McGee. "We've been stuck here since a quarter after eleven last night."

"Oh, wow. That's like...eight hours ago."

"Great math, now go _tell_ somebody."

"Right, right," said Jimmy, and then they heard nothing.

"It's 7:20," said McGee. "When do you think they'll be done? 8:00?"

**

* * *

7:25 a.m.**

"7:25. I don't hear anybody yet, do you?"

**

* * *

7:38 a.m.**

"7:38, come on, people."

**

* * *

8:00 a.m.**

"What's taking them so long? It's 8:00 already."

"Sit down. You are not making things easier."

**

* * *

8:15 a.m.**

"8:15 and they're finally here. Well, it's about time."

"Stop it. We are almost out."

"Are we? Are we really? What if something else goes wrong? In the movies, things always go wrong right when they're about to go right."

"Whoever you are who has possessed McGee, will you please_ shut up_?"

**

* * *

8:31 a.m.**

"But at least a cable snapping would be quick. Sort of. Worst case scenario, they can't break us out and we run out of oxygen. And I don't even have phone service to text goodbye to anybody." He glanced at his watch. "8:31."

"I am warning you."

**

* * *

8:36 a.m.**

"Do you see this?" McGee demanded, flourishing his watch in front of Ziva's face. "Nine hours, twenty-one minutes."

Ziva looked up at him, expression locked. "Has it been that long?" She snatched the watch from his hand and threw it against the wall.

There it went. His last piece of technology. The walls were closing in on him. "Why did you do that?"

"It was either you or the watch," Ziva snapped.

"Abby wouldn't have done that," he almost said, and it would have been true. Abby would not have smashed a perfectly good watch. Abby would have understood his sense that the world of electronics had betrayed him. And even though things between them had been a little weird lately, Abby would have been _fun_ to be stuck in an elevator with.

But he didn't say it. "It's just...what's taking them so long, you know?" Visions of horrible deaths kept flashing through his head. Abby would love to hear about them. If he survived.

He really hoped the cable didn't break.


	30. Estranged

**Set just after episode 7.8, Power Down.**

**

* * *

  
**

"Nine hours and a half hours trapped in a box with McGee," said Abby, snuggling further into the couch. "Oh, the possibilities."

Ziva snorted. "Oh, the number of times I almost hit him."

"It couldn't have been all bad. He's good company."

"He taught me how to play MASH."

Abby's eyes widened. "No way. Did he teach you the Abby version?"

"He did not. I started to mention that you played it Mausoleum, Ashes, Sod...." She paused, searching for the last one.

"Haunting," Abby reminded her.

"Haunting, yes. But for some reason he did not seem to want to talk about it."

"Oh," she said, feeling hurt. Which was silly. Because probably he just forgot. "Well, who'd you end up with?"

"I do not want to talk about it."

"Tony, huh?"

Ziva glared and Abby grinned. "Okay, where will you spend your life after death?"

"Hopefully not a few floors up in an enclosed space with McGee," Ziva muttered.

"Mansion? Apartment?"

Ziva screwed up her eyes in concentration. "House."

"You spend eternity haunting Tony," said Abby, tapping her fingertips together. "Talk about possibilities."

Ziva nodded. "I believe I like your version better."

The timer on the microwave went off. "I'll get it," Abby chirped. "It is so nice to hear beeping. What a week, huh? Who knew I'd have to come in to work and use forensic methods best left in the era of Sherlock Holmes."

"Gibbs handled it all right," Ziva said, her voice raised so Abby could hear from the kitchen. The smell of popcorn filled the room. "I did not. Nor did Tony. But you and McGee must have been going crazy."

"Me, sure." Abby shrugged. "I don't know about McGee."

"You have not talked for the past few days?"

"Not really, no." Abby pressed the play button on her remote control and the _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ theme began. "Not _talked_."

"I would have thought that you two would have spent every spare moment commiserating together in your lab."

So would Abby, but she just shrugged again and stuffed an awkwardly large handful of popcorn into her mouth. "Ess ben wherd," she said, although she had purposely stuffed that much popcorn into her mouth so she would _not_ say anything.

"I speak ten languages and I have no idea what you just said."

Abby chewed quickly, swallowed even more quickly, and went into a coughing fit as an unpopped kernel scraped the back of her throat. After guzzling two glasses of water and breathing heavily for two minutes, she repeated herself. "It's been weird."

She had never seen Ziva look that understanding. And her friend didn't force the issue, or even refer to McGee again for the whole night.

It didn't stop Abby from thinking about him.


	31. Thanksgiving Wish

**Set at the end of episode 7.9, Child's Play.**

**

* * *

  
**

"Ziva! How lovely you look this evening. Do come in."

"Happy Thanksgiving, Ducky," Ziva responded, greeting him with a one-armed hug. She held up the bottle of wine in her other hand. "Where shall I put this?"

"Why don't you set it in the kitchen for now. It's right through that door. Abigail is in there already setting out her homemade cranberry sauce."

Ziva found Abby in the kitchen with her eyes scrunched up tight and her lips moving quickly and silently. She set the bottle down gingerly, but Abby jumped anyway.

"I am sorry," said Ziva. "I did not mean to interrupt your prayers."

"I'm not praying," said Abby. "Not exactly. I'm making my Thanksgiving wish."

"I did not know wishing was a Thanksgiving tradition."

"It isn't. This is a special circumstance. Something is amiss in Abby's life and it cannot be allowed to continue."

"Is this about McGee? Are you two still not talking?"

"Maybe. Maybe not." She pursed her lips in thought, then did a double-take. "Ziva! You came!" She threw her arms around Ziva's neck. "I'm so excited. Not excited that your plans fell through, just that you're here. Except if your plans fell through you wouldn't be here, so I guess I _am_ excited about that, kinda."

"I understand."

Tony came in carrying a bottle of merlot, which Ziva skillfully rescued as Abby attack-hugged him.

"Good to see you, too, Abs," said Tony, his voice a bit garbled due to Abby's collarbone in his throat.

"This is going to be one of the best Thanksgivings ever," gushed Abby. "Aside from a joint Thanksgiving with my whole biological family _and_ my extended NCIS family. That would rock."

"I would love to spend a holiday in New Orleans, wouldn't you, Ziva? Maybe earn some beads?"

"It is Thanksgiving," she reminded him, "not Mardi Gras."

"Well, well, looks like we're all congregating in the kitchen," said Ducky, entering with McGee right behind him. He held up two bottles of wine. "Timothy's contribution to our evening."

McGee looked at the bottles lined up on the counter. "Doesn't look like you needed more, but that was pretty much all I could bring at last-minute notice."

"No apologies requested or required," said Ducky. "I'm only glad that Abigail and I don't have to eat the entire bird alone. Now, please, do go out and take your seats. I've been keeping everything warm for you and I only have a few more dishes to set out."

There was some skirmishing as everyone tried to help Ducky at once, but at last every dish save one had been placed onto the dining room table and the four guests had taken their assigned seats.

"Oh, Ducky!" Abby exclaimed, clapping, as Ducky entered carrying the turkey. "Yay! Yay!"

"It is such a pleasure to have you all here," Ducky reiterated. "Even though our togetherness was not your first choice."

"Well," said Tony, "it's just Indian poker. All you can eat crab legs. Showgirls."

"Relax, Tony," said McGee. "Plenty of wine."

Ducky picked up the carving knife and fork. "I suppose it's time to carve," he said, somewhat reluctantly. "And apparently we have a quorum."

They all looked at Gibbs' empty chair, each one wondering where Gibbs was going to spend his holiday evening, and then the front door opened.

"Jethro," Ducky welcomed him, then saw the bag he was carrying. "You remembered the rolls."

"There's not a lot available out there, Duck," Gibbs replied as Ducky emptied the bag into the roll basket.

Ducky laughed as he fingered a snack-sized bag of chips. "A superb selection," he asserted, and reached for his wine glass. "A toast: Close friends and dear family all, a bountiful thanks, and good things for fall."

"And to all a good night," Abby chimed in, to bemused looks. She glanced from Gibbs to Ducky. "Wrong holiday."

"It's all right," Gibbs reassured her. "Cheers."

They clinked their glasses together, "Happy Thanksgiving" echoing around the table.

When all were seated again and the dishes were being passed, Ducky cleared his throat. "It's an old Mallard tradition to begin each Thanksgiving meal with a litany of thanks from all participants. I'll start things off by repeating myself: close friends and dear family you are, and it means so much to me that you could be here to make this day a truly festive one."

"I'm thankful for this amazing meal at the end of a long day," said McGee.

"I am thankful that you did not hire showgirls," said Ziva, and Tony rolled his eyes.

"Best Thanksgiving I've had in years," said Gibbs. "All of it. Thankful for that."

"I'm thankful for an evening featuring a good body and great legs," said Tony. Eyebrows shot up all around. "I'm referring, of course, to the wine and the turkey."

"Of course," muttered Ziva sardonically.

"Me, next," said Abby, raising her glass again. "I'm thankful for friends who make every day better than Mardi Gras." There was a muffled thump under the table and Tony jumped next to her. She suspected Ziva. "Ducky, for your wonderful hosting. Tony, for not really preferring showgirls to us." He pulled an overly dramatic sad face and she nudged him with her elbow. "Gibbs, because the table would be way too empty without you. Ziva, for saving lives and acting like it's no big deal. McGee..."She stopped, and took a quick breath, and closed her eyes, and when she opened them he was looking a little concerned.

"I'm thankful for you, McGee."

"I'm thankful for you, too, Abs," he said. "Are you okay?"

She flashed him a broad smile. "Yes," she said. "Very much." He smiled back and raised his glass to her.

This Thanksgiving was pretty much everything she'd wished for.


	32. Believing

**Set during episode 7.10, Faith.**

**

* * *

  
**

Abby believed in hospitality. It was why her lab was the most festive place in NCIS during the holidays—stocked with drinks and snacks, overflowing with decorations, resounding with holiday music. It was why she had as many friends over as possible, choosing to interpret the rules about mixing personal and professional spheres loosely. Besides, if hospitality was about welcoming someone into your life, there could be no real hospitality until she could invite people into her lab, too.

Most people would've been touched to hear about Carol's nephew, whose only Christmas wish was to talk to his mom. When she called Abby about it, she got an invitation to come over. Right away. Because Abby knew somebody who could help.

"I don't know," Carol said as she watched her friend put the finishing touches on the Caf-Nog. "Aren't there, like, a zillion rules against civilian use of military resources?"

Abby waved a hand. "It will be a morale booster for civilians and military personnel alike. Besides, what good does it do to have that satellite sitting up there collecting space dust?"

Carol nodded. "True. And you really think your guy will be able to pull it off?"

"McGee can do anything. You just wait and see."

"I'm looking forward to meeting him. You sure talk about him enough."

"What?" Abby snapped.

"Him and everybody else here. It'll be like meeting your family."

"Well, they are family." Abby fingered the pompom on the Santa hat that decorated the skeleton next to her. "Kind of like this guy. Or girl, should the situation require."

They giggled, and Abby was just launching into a freshman year recollection when McGee came down. Okay, he was lured under false pretenses, but Major Mass Spec would probably have the metal analyzed soon...-ish, and meanwhile she could explain what needed to be done.

One thing to be said for McGee, he wasn't somebody you could catch off guard with a request. He knew the minute she and Carol started talking that something was up, she could tell. She met every questioning glance with one of her most innocent, heartwarming smiles, which probably just made him more sure that at the end of this story someone was going to ask him to do something. And so they did, as Fisher's Christmas wish to Santa Claus came to rest on McGee's hesitant shoulders.

Abby believed in Santa Claus. Well, sort of.

She'd believed in the real Santa Claus up until the year she was eight and she'd come out of her room for a late-night drink of water and caught her father placing presents under the tree. There had been a strong sense of disappointment, but it had been from her father, not from her. She had thrown her arms around his waist to hug away that disappointment, since finding out that for her whole life she'd been getting presents not from a fat guy at the North Pole but from the man she loved most in all the world was just about the best Christmas gift ever.

He wasn't a rich man, her father. He was a teacher at a school for the deaf, a man passionately devoted to education and life-long learning who pushed her never to settle for easy answers. But as far as money went, anyway, not a rich man. That Christmas morning, the yearlong financial sacrifices revealed themselves as love for his family. So she believed in the _spirit_ of Santa Claus.

Christmas Eve came and brought Carol and Fisher with it, courtesy of a message from McGee that Abby got to relay to her friend. When they all met outside of MTAC, Abby stayed quiet and let McGee take the lead. She watched as he knelt down and explained to Fisher that Santa had given him a special mission to make his Christmas wish come true. She wondered how many hours it had taken, how many phone calls and favors called in. McGee moved behind Fisher, who was covering his tightly closed eyes with his hands, and in that moment Abby could tell that even though this might've started out as a favor to her, that wasn't all it was anymore.

Pride glowed on his face as he walked over to stand by her, pride and the simple joy of a child that was reflected on all of the faces in the room.

"Well, not bad, huh?" he asked her. "Pulled it off."

She grabbed his face and kissed him on the cheek. She was proud, too.

"You would make a great Santa," she said, smiling because he already had.

"Well," he replied humbly, "I guess you just gotta believe."

"I do believe," she said, and when he looked to see if she meant what he thought she meant she let it shine as purely as the excitement in Fisher's eyes, and one of her other very bestest friends in the whole world saw it and kissed her back.

Because most of all, Abby believed in McGee.


	33. Rocket Man

**Set just after episode 7.11, Ignition.**

* * *

When you're friends with somebody for a long time, you tend to hear a lot of the same stories. In fact, if you're friends for long enough, the stories become so familiar that you could repeat them word for word, match inflection for inflection, and deliver them almost as if you were coming up with them yourself. That's even if you're just friends with somebody average, not, say, somebody who spent his prom night building computers in his basement. By choice.

Which explained why Abby knew a lot about jet packs. After six years of being friends with McGee, every time he (or anybody else, but it never _was _anybody else) started out a question with "Did you know that jet packs," she could answer it "Yes." But the other thing about being friends with somebody, _good_ friends, was that you let them tell the same story more than once. No matter how much your brain wanted to flit off somewhere else.

The best thing about the jet pack case was that it had given McGee a new person to talk about his pet topic with, and it was actually an enthusiast. A new enthusiast, sure, but Tony had gotten into this thing way more than Abby ever could. She'd really never been that geeked about flying.

The worst thing about the case was that she worked with both of them.

"You should have been there, Abs," said Tony, eyes glazed in wonder. "It was a thing of beauty."

"Like watching a hummingbird," said McGee.

From her desk, Ziva caught Abby's eye and shook her head. Abby shrugged, a long-suffering gesture that hopefully let Ziva know what she was in for. At least Abby didn't have to sit up here listening to her two colleagues all day. The ones who had suddenly turned into ten-year-old boys.

"I called the hummingbird comparison first." Tony stood up and raised his arms as if grasping jet pack controls. "Effortless. Left. Right. Up. Down. No restrictions."

"Except for the giant remote control in McGee's hands," Ziva pointed out.

"Better than the remote-controlled helicopter my parents gave me for Christmas when I was 14," McGee said, "and I didn't think anything could beat that."

The identical glint in their eyes _was_ endearing. Even though if she never heard another word on this topic she'd never regret it.

"Why can't you build one of those packs, McJetson? Maybe in a nice chrome finish."

Ziva snorted. "I do not think a jet pack would be good for picking up women, Tony."

He raised an eyebrow. "Depends how heavy they are."

"Ziva, please," McGee scoffed. "You're telling me you wouldn't be impressed if a guy flew to your door for a date?"

She eyed Tony appraisingly as he bobbed and weaved in an impression of flight. "Depends on the guy."

"Abby?" McGee appealed.

She grinned. "Any guy who can fly a jet pack on his own is worth a second look. Any guy who can build it, too..."

"What?" prompted Tony.

"At _least_ a second date."

Because, hey, jet packs in reality were an entirely different thing than jet packs in....

"My PowerPoint," announced McGee, "will be updated by the end of the weekend. Who's coming over to watch the premiere next week?"

Abby swallowed a sigh and raised her hand. "I'll bring the popcorn."

It wasn't like she could get too irritated over anybody else's obsession. She'd chosen to spend her prom night in a cemetery.


	34. DiNozzo Envy

**Set during episode 7.12, Flesh and Blood.**

**

* * *

  
**

When the elevator doors opened for McGee, Abby was standing behind them. "Hello, friend," she chirped as he entered. The doors slid shut and the elevator began its descent.

The route Abby took from the lab to her car didn't require her to come near the bullpen. "What are you doing up here?" asked McGee, with a tiny edge of hope that her answer would be "Looking for you."

"I had forgotten to show Tony's dad the best view of the city this building has to offer," she said.

"And then you forgot to bring him back?"

"No, he decided to stay for a little while. He also liked his view of Agent Donnelly. He said he'll ask her the way out."

McGee shook his head. "I guess Tony had to come from somewhere."

Abby socked him in the arm. "Tony's dad is a nice guy, too."

He snorted. "He's certainly unique. You didn't find him a little slimy, though?"

"Of course not. You did?"

"The man was hitting on women half his age. Yeah, I did."

Abby flipped the elevator switch and they lurched to a stop. She crossed her arms across her chest and smirked at him.

"What?"

"You're jealous."

"Of Tony's dad? That's ridiculous." He reached for the switch and she swatted his hand away.

"I completely agree, but it's the truth. Admit it."

"Admit what?"

"You're jealous of Tony's dad. You have DiNozzo envy."

McGee huffed incredulously. "I am not interested in women half my age. That isn't even legal."

"Soon enough it will be," said Abby, and McGee glared at her. "Bet you weren't jealous when he was talking to Ziva."

He intensified the glare, jaw working as he attempted to formulate a response.

She grinned broadly and flipped the elevator switch.

"Glad to see you gave that up," he said tersely.

"I didn't. I got my answer."

He let out his breath in a measured sigh, rolling his eyes to suppress a smile. "You drive me crazy."

"Oh, I know." She took his hand as the doors slid open. "Come on. I'll buy you dinner to make up for it."

He let himself be dragged along after her.

Like he always did.


	35. McTravel Agent

**Set during episode 7.13, Jet Lag.**

**

* * *

  
**

McGee was proud of himself. It had been a brilliant idea—priceless, really. The sort of thing Abby would love to hear about, and the sort of thing he hadn't told her about only because he'd been afraid she would spill the beans. He pulled out his iPhone and went to his World Clock app. Yup, they would probably be out by now. He bet they'd gotten out as quickly as possible.

He propped his feet up on his desk and opened his IM program. "Good morning, Abby," he typed. "Guess who slept in the same room with a coworker last night?"

As the "Abby Sciuto is typing" notice appeared, disappeared, appeared, disappeared, and appeared again, he realized that his opening had sounded a little weird.

"Hint: it wasn't me."

Disappeared. Appeared. "Wouldn't matter if it _was_ you."

He grinned and shook his head. "But it wasn't."

"Yeah, so you said, but you could."

"What about rule 12?" he typed.

"Who's talking rule 12? Are you using the word 'sleeping' euphemistically? McGEE!"

"Hint #2: Paris."

"What? No way! How'd that happen?"

"Gibbs put me in charge of room arrangements."

"McGee, you are an evil, evil man. I am so impressed right now. Listen, I gotta go, but we are definitely having lunch to talk about this more."

McGee chuckled. Life was good. Until two seconds later when Vance came by, which wasn't so good. He found himself babbling about how much Tony and Ziva hated each other. Well, not hated each other exactly. But didn't enjoy each other. Not each other's company, that is. Not very much.

Suddenly, he realized that they had a seven and a half hour flight to plan their retribution for the hotel stunt. The love of retaliation was something they had in common. True, Ziva hadn't _sounded_ angry when she answered the phone, but that was no indication of her actual state of mind. She was a masterful agent and could keep her true emotions hidden when necessary.

"This could be my last day on earth," he said to Abby over lunch.

"Wow, Tim. Melodramatic much?"

"It's just...I think I may have gone too far with the hotel thing."

"Tell me about it."

His face fell.

"No, no, I didn't mean you went too far...which you might have...but how can I know in advance. You know, before you tell me about it. So tell me about it. Two agents. One room. One sly McGee."

He squared his shoulders. He refused to worry about the reactions of his coworkers this far in advance. Especially when one of his other coworkers was looking at him so admiringly right this moment.

"Okay, well, you know how we get a travel budget and it's not really that big, right?"

"I don't. 'Cause I never get to go anywhere. Who would take care of my babies?"

McGee looked confused, then nodded. The lab. "I would."

"Yeah, like I want to see that mess when I get home. What were you saying about the tiny travel budget?"

"Anyway, I was looking up rooms in Paris, and Tony was going on and on about how he wanted a room with a view of something famous, like Johnny Depp or at least the Eiffel Tower, and Ziva told him that was probably not in their price range. So I just casually mentioned that if they pooled their funds it might be."

Abby gestured with her fork. "And?"

"And what?"

"That's it? That's not much of a scheme. That makes total sense."

"It does?"

She shrugged. "Well, yeah. I mean, if I were going somewhere famous, I'd totally share a room in order not to sleep in a dive. Unless it was, like, a really cool kind of dive. Maybe a little Bates Motel-ish."

"But," he added, eager to regain the admiration, "I booked a room without twin beds."

"I'd totally share a bed. I'd share a bed with any of you."

He gave up. "There's a couch in the room, anyway," he said. "So they didn't have to share a bed."

Abby sighed. "And here I was expecting something devious."

"I thought that was devious enough, considering."

"Considering what?"

"How they don't really get along."

Abby laughed. "Oh, yeah. Right. There's that."

"What?"

She twirled pasta around her fork. "I think they'll be fine."

He took a bite of his breadstick and they ate silently for a few minutes. McGee wondered if Abby knew something he didn't know about Tony and Ziva. He was positive they couldn't handle this much time alone together. They'd be at each other's throats for sure.

The sound of a fork clanging onto an empty plate startled him out of his thoughts. "Why can't we ever get an assignment like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like Paris. Or Berlin. Oooo, or Transylvania."

"Because they're a little out of our jurisdiction?"

Abby quirked a disapproving eyebrow. "Don't get hung up on the details, McGee. It could happen." She stared over his head dreamily. "And when it does, we're definitely pooling our funds. For a tower room."

"That could be a little steep even for two."

"We'll invite everybody. Tony and Ziva and Gibbs and Ducky and...."

"That's gonna take a lot of beds."

"Nah. You've seen some of those old movies, some of those tower bedroom beds could be bigger than a California king-sized mattress."

"I'm not sleeping with Tony."

Abby spread out her napkin. "No, it'll be fine. It'll be you, me, Tony, Ziva, Ducky, Gibbs." She drew little lines on the napkin to illustrate.

"Not doing it."

"Come on, Timmy! I'll be your buffer. If he tries to snuggle you, I'll be right there to smack him."

McGee put down the rest of his breadstick. He didn't think he was hungry anymore.

"Okay, maybe we'd just throw in a bit of our own money instead. Better?"

He nodded.

Abby snatched the remainder of McGee's breadstick. "We'd have way more fun than Tony and Ziva are having now."

"Considering you seem to think they get along better than I think they do, what makes you say that?"

She looked at him like he was an idiot. "Because it'd be _us_, Tim."

McGee smiled and thought about what Vance had said that morning. He could see how, under some circumstances, Paris might be a difficult city to leave.


	36. Sleeping Beauty

**Set during episode 7.15, Jack-Knife **

* * *

"What happened?" Abby exclaimed as McGee entered her lab. "You look horrible."

"Thanks," he said drily. "As a matter of fact, I feel worse than I look."

"I don't know if that's possible."

He swayed and she rushed to grab him by the elbow. "Trust me," he assured her. "It's possible. Can I lie down on your futon for a few minutes?"

She shook her head, and at his wounded expression she rushed to explain. "I had to send it out for cleaning. There was an unfortunate incident with a Superball and a Caf-Pow. Don't ask."

"Right now I could sleep on hot coals."

"Hinky. And unnecessary. I'll clear off a table for you."

The table cleared, McGee climbed up and made himself as comfortable as possible, curling his arm under his head.

"Wait, wait," said Abby, rushing her stuffed hippo over. "Bert wants to be your pillow."

McGee put his head on the hippo and it emitted its familiar loud sound. He didn't even roll his eyes. "Wake me up at 2:00," he said, and then he was asleep.

Abby's brow furrowed in concern. She hadn't turned down her music yet. And sure, _she_ could sleep to the sounds of metal if she had to, but even she preferred not to try. She circled the table, leaning over him with her arms held out and her hands hovering mere centimeters above him.

"McGee?" she asked hesitantly. "Tim?"

He was so still. She held a hand by his nose and was reassured by the warmth of his breath.

"Wow, Timmy, you are out cold," she said. "I bet you really can't hear anything I say." She put her lips by his ear and whispered, "Tony is reformatting your hard drive." She jerked back, but nothing happened. "Wow," she repeated.

After a quick rummage in her desk drawer, she had her iPod out and the stereo switched off. She resumed her work, casting anxious glances at McGee. She had seen him tired, but never _this_ tired.

When it was time to wake him up, she felt guilty. He looked so peaceful. But then she thought about how he'd feel if Gibbs was the one to find him instead of her.

Gibbs. Pushing Tim to exhaustion. Almost getting one of her favorite people blown up not too long ago. Gibbs was just lucky he was one of her other favorite people, that's all. Hey, but wait...that meant he almost got _two_ of her favorite people killed. So...he was lucky she loved him. And that she was a forgiving person. And that the bomb didn't go off. No matter how you looked at it, he was a lucky, lucky man.

His luck seemed to rub off on the rest of them, too. Sure, as she told McGee after she woke him up, it was really rude to push people (although on the scale of rudeness of which Gibbs was more than capable, pushing McGee around as a valet was way ruder than pushing him out of the way of a speeding car), but the point was...McGee was still alive. In kind of a walking zombie sort of way, which was actually really endearing, but the point was that he was alive.

The aliveness of Tim took the edge off her indignation on his behalf, which is why when Gibbs came to the lab and sent McGee scurrying away on another errand, Abby let him off with a veiled rebuke and a warning look. The grin accompanying his casual response didn't surprise her at all.

She knew he loved them back.


	37. Electronic Love

**Set after episode 7.16, Mother's Day.**

**

* * *

**

McGee put the popcorn in the microwave, swung the door closed, and stepped back, hands in the air.

BEEP.

The light came on, the turntable began to rotate, and the display counted down from four minutes. Enthusiastic clapping filled the air as he turned, bowing with a flourish.

"Now that's a grand finale," said Abby proudly. She held the remote up carefully, eyeing it with awe.

"You like it?" he asked modestly.

"Mc_Gee_," she said. "It's a thing of beauty. It's like...performance art." She pressed her finger to the remote and the sounds of Venetian Snares floated out of the surround-sound speakers. Another selection, and the lights flicked off. "Whoops."

"Here, let me...." Shuffling, then a thud and a muffled grunt.

"I've got it.... " The volume of the stereo increased. "Almost...."

"Let me...."

A human yelp and an echoing canine bark. The lights came back on.

Abby sat with her right hand to her heart. Jethro came over and nuzzled her left hand, which began stroking him automatically. "_Don't_ touch me in the dark, you almost gave me a coronary. _And _I almost dropped your new favorite thing."

"Don't be ridiculous," scoffed McGee. He hit a button and the microwave stopped. "Popcorn's ready." He sighed. "Too bad I have to walk all the way over there to get it, huh?"

"I'm not being ridiculous," said Abby. "It is so your favorite thing."

"You don't drop things when you get scared," he retorted. "You hold them tighter. I've had the bruising to prove it."

"True," she conceded, taking the bowl of popcorn he offered her. Her gaze returned to the remote. "Such a little thing, and it can change your life," she mused.

They munched popcorn for a few moments in companionable silence. McGee's toe tapped in time with the music.

"You and I should double-date."

McGee coughed on a piece of kernel that had slid down his throat unexpectedly. "You and me?" he choked out, reaching for his glass of water.

"No, me and Jethro," she said sarcastically. "Of _course_ you and me."

"Do...do you have somebody in...."

"What's her name?"

He looked up, eyes watering, and caught her quirked eyebrow and the subtle nod to the remote.

"Her name?" he repeated.

"If Major Mass Spec and I are going to double with you two, it's gonna be weird if we don't know what to call her."

He took another swig of water and wiped his eyes. "How do you know it's a female remote?"

"Don't play coy, Tim, not when she's already been so good to you. She's sleek, she's stylish, she makes your life less complicated...."

"Less complicated, right. Because clearly _that's_ the kind of woman I gravitate towards."

"And she makes you smile," Abby continued. "She deserves a name."

McGee fought to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up, and failed. "I'll think about it."

A dreamy look crossed Abby's face. "Don't you wish she were a real woman? I wish Major Mass Spec were a real man."

His amusement was replaced by confusion. "Really?"

"I bet he'd have strong features. Chiseled cheekbones. Everything about him would scream '100% reliable.'"

"I'm reliable and I don't have chiseled cheekbones," he offered, but she didn't seem to hear.

"I bet our kids would be unstoppable geniuses, too."

He chewed a handful of popcorn thoughtfully and swallowed carefully. "We'd probably better not double."

She looked hurt. "Why not? It'd be a blast."

"Well, what if Major Mass Spec and Bella hit it off _too_ well and ran off together? Where would that leave us? Stuck on a double date without our doubles. Just...us...what?" he trailed off as she looked at him in stark amazement.

"Bella? Seriously? The electronic love of your life, and you had to go to the _Twilight_ well?"

"It's not only a _Twilight_ name."

"Of all the available vampire lore...."

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Please let's not have the _Twilight_ argument again."

"Her name is Drusilla."

"Wait a second...."

"You can call her Dru for short."

"She's _my_ electronic love interest, I think I should have a say in this."

Abby tilted her head to one side and grinned.

"Now what?" he asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," she said. "I just love us."

McGee thought of everything that had led to this point in the conversation. He laughed and raised his water glass to her. "So do I."


	38. Permanent Record

**Set after episode 7.17, Double Identity.**

**

* * *

**

"It's not that bad."

A muffled groan emanated from between McGee's elbows.

"You didn't kill anybody." She looked askance at him. "You _didn't_ kill anybody, right?"

His forearms rocked from side to side with his head.

"So no problem."

Another groan.

Abby winked an eyebrow at the puppy in her arms. "You don't have anybody to blame but yourself," she said.

McGee's arms dropped and his head snapped up. "Are you kidding me?" He held up his hand and began ticking of on his fingers. "Tony, Gibbs, maybe you..."

"Me? It was _your_ idea, Tim."

He grunted. "You have no idea what it's like to have something like that on your permanent record."

"Please. I had a record before I could drive."

"Being caught playing tag in gated cemeteries after dark is not the same thing."

Abby shrugged. "You make choices in life, Timmy." She shoved Mortimer at him until they were nose to nose. "You have to face up to them."

McGee pulled back. "I thought you weren't supposed to cuddle seeing-eye dogs. Isn't he supposed to be on duty?" At Abby's guilty expression, he followed up with, "Is this whole thing just an excuse to bring a dog to work?"

Abby gasped dramatically. "How could you say that? Don't you trust me at all?"

"Your heart's a little too big to let you be completely trustworthy when it comes to animals."

"Hm," Abby responded. "I can't decide if that's a compliment or not."

"Neither can I."

She put Mortimer down on the floor of the lab and leaned back on the computer desk. "So when do we get to meet Jethro?"

"I don't think..."

"Come on, McGee. Jethro will love Mortimer."

McGee gestured at the small dog sniffing around Major Mass Spec. "Jethro might _eat_ Mortimer. Without even noticing."

Abby's eyes widened. "You would not even say that if you weren't so prejudiced against small dogs."

"I'm not..."

"You are, you totally are. Remember the dachshund incident?"

"I didn't want a dog alternatively known as wiener or sausage, I don't see how..."

"And you just laughed right out loud when I suggested a Shih Tzu."

McGee burst out in a laugh that he quickly suppressed. "I'm sorry," he said. "You just always sound like you're sneezing, the way you say it."

"Ah," she replied. "Convenient."

"Hey, wait a second," McGee exclaimed, "I told you I wanted a smaller dog."

"Oh, so now you're against big dogs."

"I am _not_!"

"But is your headache gone?"

"How is that..." McGee trailed off thoughtfully. "Actually, yeah. It is."

She grinned.

"You were just trying to make me forget about the impound lot thing."

She took a sweeping bow and caught up Mortimer again on the way back up. "Now that that's over, let's go see Jethro. I bet he likes small dogs as much as you do."

"I _told_ you I wanted..."

"I know, Timmy," she said, nuzzling Mortimer's back. "Opinions on dogs go on _my_ permanent record. Or...I mean...yours. Or...mine on you. Or something. Anyway, I wouldn't expunge it even if you begged me."

"Don't worry." He scratched Mortimer behind the ears. "I never will."


	39. Free Hugs Only

**Set during 7.19, Guilty Pleasure.**

* * *

McGee shot a horrified look at a smiling Abby. He waited for their boss' footsteps to die away before asking, "Why would you even suggest that?"

"Gibbs gives really good hugs," shrugged Abby. "And you do _really_ need one."

"What about you?"

"Me? I'm doing pretty good right now, actually."

He huffed. "That's not…."

"Except that even thinking about physical contact during this case is kind of creeping me out."

McGee did a double-take. "You're all out of hugs?"

"Not forever. Just…." She shuddered.

"I guess it is kind of a weird way to make a living."

"Kind of? _Kind_ of? Look at it this way, McGee. You want a hug right now, right?"

He nodded sheepishly. She put her head to one side sympathetically and held out her arms. When he raised his and took a step towards her, she jerked her arms back and took two steps away.

"Do you want my five dollar short, pat-on-the-back hug; my twenty dollar lingering, extra-squeeze-at-the-end hug; or something a little more customized that'll cost you even more?"

"Ahhhh…I kind of don't even _want_ a hug anymore."

"Creeped you out, too, didn't it?"

"Uh, yeah."

Abby folded her arms and surveyed him intently. "That's because you're a good man, McGee."

He laughed bemusedly.

"No, I'm serious. You're not into that kind of thing because you wouldn't get anything out of it except that _wrong_ feeling you're feeling right now."

"How do you know…."

"Because I wouldn't pay for one of your hugs, either."

He didn't know quite what to say to that, so he waited for her to continue.

"When you try to put money down for something priceless, you just end up making it cheap. Money can't buy you love, McGee."

He nodded thoughtfully. "So…it's not that I'm not a good enough hugger."

She shook her head. "You've come a long way since I've met you, but you can still be frighteningly insecure sometimes. It scares me."

He grinned. "Gotcha."

"Are you for real, or are you just saying that because I called you insecure?" she asked, glaring at him. "Because I'm not joking about this, Tim, I'm serious."

"No, Abs, I get it. I do. I'd never pay you for a hug. Ever. Because I don't just want to hug you, I want hugs _from_ you. From _you_."

She smiled. "Good answer. We'll make a deal: free hugs only."

"Done."

"Now if only I could get you and Tony to hug and make up."

"Not helping," McGee replied.

"Creeped out again?"

"Little bit."

"Sorry," she grinned. "Okay, come here."

She raised her arms once more and he stepped into them and received an "I'm-glad-you-understand" companionable hug with a little sigh of contentment at the end.

Priceless.


	40. Internal & External Conversations

**Set during and after episode 7.20, Moonlighting.**

**

* * *

**

McGee didn't exactly have a better track record with women than Susan Grady had with men. His was worse, when you thought about it. (Not that that was the sort of thing that warranted a ton of thought, but still.) Her naivety on matters of the heart meant that she didn't get dates, his meant that got dates with people trying to kill him and everyone he loved. Big difference.

Okay, so maybe his record wasn't quite that bad. And Susan hadn't been trying to kill McGee. Yet. But you could never tell. When these things went south, they went south fast. For somebody who wasn't watching, wasn't ready for it.

It wasn't like Abby was _jealous_, no matter what Tony…and Ziva…and Ducky were trying to imply. She didn't even like McGee like that, not anymore. She didn't think of him as having the potential to be a hinkily sexy good time, she thought of him as…well, as McGee. Just…he was…well, a constant, you know? Like Gibbs, but McGee-shaped.

The fact that she wasn't about to discuss their history didn't mean anything, either. It was nobody's business what did or didn't happen, and when or where it might have, and of all people _Ziva_ was asking her that, in the same room as Tony, and who did they think _they_ were fooling? Abby had seen Ziva thwack Tony in the side when he started on that poorly thought-out train of thought, and she knew what it meant. She'd certainly done that sort of thing enough to McGee. Not that it meant the same thing. But, yeah, she was familiar with the general gesture.

She refused to accept the role of protective hen or overprotective panther, but if she had to pick one, it would definitely be panther. Panthers were way cool.

* * *

McGee pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and stared at himself in the mirror. He was angling his face from side to side when Tony came in and caught him at it.

"Looking for zits, McPimply?"

McGee rolled his eyes and tossed the paper towel in the trash.

"I haven't had acne since I was a teenager."

"Which was…how many days ago? I get confused with all that online killing."

"Not in the mood, Tony."

"Okay, fine. I'll just be about my business."

When Tony came over to wash his hands, McGee was still there, quirking one eyebrow and then another at the mirror. "And now you're scaring me," Tony said.

"What is it about this face that makes it a homing beacon for crazy women?" McGee muttered.

Tony snorted. "I've noticed a wacky glimmer in your eyes from time to time. Kind of glazed over. Like maybe your brain switched to virtual reality mode."

"I'm serious."

"Is this about Susan Grady? I thought I saw her walking _away _from you."

McGee looked sheepish.

"No," said Tony. "Tell me you didn't."

"I didn't."

"You _did_. I can see it all over your beacon. You asked her out, and she"—Tony surveyed McGee clinically—"she turned you down." He laughed. "Trust you to get rejected by somebody that into you."

"I said watching her work made me want to know more, and she said she didn't think I was serious."

"How'd you say it?"

McGee waved the question aside. "Doesn't matter."

"Oh, it does. With women, the how always matters."

"Who are you, Dear Abby?"

Tony nodded appraisingly. "Bringing Abby's name into it. Interesting."

"I'm not…."

"How did you ask? Act like I'm her."

"There's a mood-killer." McGee sighed. "Okay." He rolled his shoulders a few times. "I said, 'Seeing you in action…you know, you doing what you do…it's interesting to me, I'd like to know more.'"

Tony grimaced.

"Not good?"

"No, it's great. All it was missing was a pat on the head."

"I was serious."

His partner shrugged. "I don't think you were."

"Not you, too."

"_I_ think," began Tony, eyes sparkling, "that you have underlying feelings for…."

"Oh, says the man who can't stop flirting with…."

"Shut up," Tony whispered urgently. "She could come in here any second."

They both leaned back and narrowed their eyes.

"You knew who I was talking about," said McGee.

"You knew who _I _was talking about," said Tony.

Moving as one person, they broke eye contact and rushed back to their desks. Ziva found them both astonishingly quiet for the rest of the day.


End file.
